THE  RENAISSANCE 


146^-1560 


Tc^/ZUf^  ^le^  04^4^ 


THE     RENAISSANCE 


IRA    GIROLAMO     SAVONAROLA 


fiontiipiect 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

SAVONAROLA  —  CESARE 
BORGIA — JULIUS  II. — LEO  X. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  ::  BY 
ARTHUR,  COUNT  GOBINEAU 

ENGLISH    EDITION    EDITED   BY   DR.    OSCAR    LEVY 

IVJTH    TWENTY    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW    YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

MCMXIII 


Translated  from  the  French  by 
Paul    V.   Corn,  b.a.  (Camb.) 


Printed  in  Ens^land 


SRLF 
YRL 


CONTENTS 

SAVONAROLA 

3 

CESARE   BORGIA 

93 

JULIUS   IL 

165 

LEO   X. 

235 

MICHAEL  AxNGELO 

293 

LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


FRA    GIROLAMO    SAVONAROLA 

KING    CHARLES    VIIL    OF    FRANCE 

POPE    ALEXANDER    VI. 

A    SAVONAROLA    SERMON 

LUCREZIA    BORGIA 

THE    BURNING    OF    SAVONAROLA 

CESARE    BORGIA 

NICCOLO    MACHIAVELLI 

THE    ENGELSBURG    IN    THE    XVth    CENTURY 

POPE    JULIUS    II. 

FROM    THE    ERECTION    OF   ST.    PETER's,    ROME 

RAFFAELE    SANTI    (RAPHAEL) 

CARDINAL   BEMBO 

POPE    LEO    X. 

LOVE    SCENE 

EMPEROR    CHARLES  V. 

MICHELANGELO    BUONARROTI 

GERMAN    LANDSKNECHT 

TIZIANO    VECELLIO    (TITIAN) 

PIETRO   ARETINO 


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THE    LIFE    WORK    AND    INFLUENCE 

OF    COUNT    ARTHUR    DE    GOBINEAU 

AN    INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY    BY 

DR.    OSCAR    LEVY 


fHciUci  :  "  Every  sensible   man    must   be   a   conservative, 

in    the   right  sense   of  the  7vord.^' 

B.    Disraeli. 
{Sybil,  Book  II.,  Cap.  15.) 


I 


It  has  been  generally  thought  and  stated  that  the  past  century- 
was  a  profoundly  irreverent  and  irreligious  age,  the  age  of  the 
twilight  of  old  gods,  the  shattering  of  old  idols,  the  ruin  of 
an  old  and  holy  creed.     Nothing,  however,  could  be  further 
from  the  truth.     In  every  department  of  human  knowledge, 
in  philosophy,  in  science,  and  in  politics  as  well  as  in  art, 
the   nineteenth    century  was   deeply  imbued   with   religious 
ideas;   nay,  spoilt  by  what  may  almost  be  called  a  spiritual 
intoxication.     It  was  the  only  century  known  to  history  in 
which   theology   and   its    favourite    offspring,    morality,    had 
swamped  everybody  and   everything.     Whether  it  paraded 
itself  as  cold  and  scientific,  as  warm   and  humanitarian,  as 
lukewarm  and  agnostic,  as  progressive  and  liberal,  as  ethical 
and  socialistic,  as  anarchical  and  revolutionary,  as  conserva- 
tive and  reactionary,  as  rationalistic  and  freethinking  or  as 
romantic  and  artistic,  there  was  always  one   and  the  same 
personality  behind  that  cloak  of  many  colours,  behind  that 
medley  of  divers  fashions ;  and  that  personality  was  a  good 
man,  a  religious  man — a  Christian. 

Thank  heaven,  this  good  man  is  growing  wiser  and  a  little 
wickeder.  Thank  heaven,  that  gloomy  and  oppressive  century 
is  past!  Thank  God,  the  spiritual  deluge  of  the  nineteenth 
century  is  fast  dispersing!  How  that  religious  flood  roared 
and  rushed,  how  it  deafened  our  ears,  how  it  drowned  the 
voice  of  our  innermost  heart,  how  it  frightened  every  one  of 

A  2  iii 


INTRODUCTION 

us  into  submission !  And  now — unknown,  of  course,  as  yet 
to  the  great  majority — the  ebb  of  that  movement  has  set  in, 
and  we  are  able  to  discern,  with  a  cahner  mind,  the  object 
of  our  terror.  There  it  is  :  receding  before  our  feet,  crawhng 
back  into  eternity,  carrying  its  constituents  away  with  it  to 
the  deep  sea  of  obhvion — water,  plenty  of  water,  froth,  plenty 
of  froth,  and  sand,  plenty  of  sand.  And  there  are  also  a 
number  of  pebbles  among  the  outgoing  tide,  and  these 
pebbles  are  the  great  celebrities  of  the  past  century,  the  heroes 
who  were  acclaimed  as  superior  and  representative  men,  as 
leaders  of  mankind  by  their  religious  contemporaries,  who 
proved  once  more  their  superabundance  of  faith  by  the  selec- 
tion of  their  celebrities.  Good-bye,  good  pebbles  ;  good-bye 
and  away  with  you  for  ever  into  the  watery  limbo! 

But  what  is  that  strange  sight  yonder  ?     The  sand  and  the 
water  and  the  froth  and  the  pebbles  are  disappearing  fast 
before  our  eyes,  but  some  firm  rocks,  which  no  one  has  ever 
yet  seen,  or  even  suspected,  are  left  standing  in  lonely  majesty 
between    the    receding    waves.     They    seem    to    be    firmly 
established,  and  like   everything  firm  and  self-centred,  they 
are  respected  by  the  waves  and  the  sands,  which  are  flowing 
round  them  as  if  in  awe  and  veneration,  nay,  which  seem  to 
flee  from  them  as  fast  as  they  can  as  if  frightened  by  a 
bad  conscience.     And  well  might  they  have  a  bad  conscience, 
for  while  the  flood  was  reigning,  they  had  hidden  from  every- 
body's   view    these    mighty    rocks,    pretending    they    were 
not  there,  they  had  danced  merrily  over  them,  roaring  out 
of   their  myriad   throats :   they,   the   little   pebbles,   and   the 
microscopic  sands,  and  the  babbling  waves.     But  they  could 
only   hide   for   a  time   those   mighty  rocks,   they  could   not 
move    them — and    now,    when    the    ebb    has    set    in,    these 
rocks   spring   into    everybody's   sight,    and   grave   and   erect 
they  stand  above  their  surroundings,  smiling  grimly  at  the 
tiny  pebbles  and  the  loquacious  waters  at  their  feet.     Away 
with  you,  ye  ephemeral  waters,  away  with  you — and  make 
room  for  the  eternal  rocks ! 

iv 


INTRODUCTION 

Take  close  heed  of  these  rocks,  you  younger  generation  of 
the  twentieth  century !  These  rocks  can  no  longer  be  ignored, 
as  they  were  by  your  fathers  and  grandfathers  :  rocks  that  are 
ignored  are  dangerous !  But  if  you  pay  due  attention  to  them, 
they  will  be  of  welcome  service  to  you  ;  for  these  rocks,  which 
your  blind  and  superstitious  ancestors  did  not  notice,  or  did 
not  wish  to  notice,  are  the  only  firm  structure  left  to  your 
youth,  to  the  New  Age,  to  the  century  which  you  one  day 
will  have  to  direct.  Upon  these  rocks,  upon  this  mighty  founda- 
tion of  granite,  you  shall  henceforth  build,  you  must  build, 
for  they  alone,  and  not  the  pebbles  and  the  sands  that  your 
forefathers  thought  eternal,  will  offer  you  a  fitting  and  lasting 
foundation  for  the  palace  of  the  future. 

One  of  those  men,  who,  like  those  mighty  rocks,  is  only 
now  beginning  to  appear  above  the  waters  of  the  receding 
nineteenth  century,  is  Count  Arthur  de  Gobineau. 

Joseph  Arthur,  Comte  de  Gobineau,  was  born  at  Ville 
d'Avray,  on  the  14th  of  July,  18 16.  He  was  the  descendant 
of  a  family  that  had  remained  loyal  to  the  ancient  dynasty  of 
the  Bourbons,  and  his  father,  Louis  de  Gobineau,  an  officer 
of  the  Royal  Guard,  had  followed  Louis  XVIII.  into  exile 
during  the  hundred  days  of  Napoleon's  return.  It  was  told 
of  him  that  he  considered  Voltaire  as  the  devil  and  Charles  X. 
as  a  saint,  but  that  he  was  enough  of  an  independent  thinker 
to  love  the  Devil  Monsieur  de  Voltaire,  as  well  as  the  Saint 
Charles  X. 

The  grandfather  of  our  Count,  who  was  a  Councillor  to 
the  Parliament  of  Bordeaux,  had  a  remarkable  wife,  who  may 
have  transmitted  some  of  her  qualities  to  her  famous  grandson. 
Her  name  was  Victoire  de  la  Haye,  and  she  was  a  descendant  of 
a  Norman  family  of  great  wealth.  A  story  is  circulated  about 
her  that  one  day  when  she  saw  her  son  Thibault- Joseph  fall 
from  a  horse  upon  the  stone-pavement,  she  went  up  to  him  and 
coolly  asked  him,  "  Monsieur,  did  you  do  yourself  any  injury  ?  " 
"No,  mother."     "Well  then,  get  on  again."     Thibault-Joseph 


INTRODUCTION 

never  forgot  the  scene  and  always  spoke  with  the  greatest 
reverence  of  his  mother  and  her  unusual  strength  of  character. 
This  uncle,  Thibault-Joseph,  who  was  destined  to  play  a 
certain  part  in  Arthur's  life,  was  another  noteworthy  member  of 
the  family.     When  he  was  a  pupil  at  the  college  of  Guyenne, 
he  was  ignominiously  sent  away  from  that  school,  because  one 
day  he  had  tried  to  set  fire  to  the  school-house — which  may 
certainly  be  considered  as  a  proof  that  neither  intelligence 
nor  energy  was  wanting  in  this  remarkable  stock.     Later  on 
he  fought  under  Dugommier  in  Spain  and  excelled  in  deeds 
worthy  of  those  feudal  knights  from  whom  his  famous  nephew 
always  imagined  himself  to  descend.    Almost  single-handed  he 
is  said  to  have  captured  an  English  brig.     He  was  a  violent 
anti-Jacobin  and  legitimist,  and  after  the  ninth  of  Thermidor 
he  did  everything  to  re-establish  the  old  order. 

After  a  long  journey  in  Germany  with  his  mother,  and 
having    attended    school    at    the    College    of    Bienne,     in 
Switzerland,  Arthur  Gobineau  was  sent  to  Paris  to  live  with 
this   marvellous   uncle  of  his.     The  latter,  however,   in  the 
course  of  time,  had  become  more  and  more  a  quaint  fellow : 
his  whole  occupation  now  apparently  consisted  in  cursing  the 
upstart  Louis  Philippe  and  in  loose  talking  about  the  re-estab- 
lishment of  the  legitimate  kings  of  France.     He  spent  his 
days  on  a  sofa,  his  head  hidden  behind  big  newspapers,  and 
without    troubling    in    the    least    about    his    nephew,    whom 
his   valet   was    supposed   to    look    after.      Arthur    Gobineau 
endured  this  life  for  three  weeks  and  then  went  up  to  his  uncle 
and  frankly  declared  that  he  would  commit  suicide  on  the  spot, 
and  before  his  eyes,  if  the  uncle  did  not  change  his  behaviour 
towards   him.     Then,   and    only   then,   is    the   strange    man 
reported  to  have  given  in  and  paid  more  attention  to  his 
nephew,  whom  he  certainly  must  have  recognised  as  belonging 
to  his  own  breed. 

On  account  of  his  Conservative  political  views,  Gobineau, 
of  course,  never  thought  of  playing  a  part  under  the   new 

vi 


INTRODUCTION 

democratic  regime  of  France.  All  the  time  he  was  staying 
with  his  uncle,  in  the  years  183 5- 1848,  he  occupied  himself, 
with  literary  work  and  thus  acquired,  during  the  most 
important  years  of  his  life,  a  knowledge  which  was  all  the 
more  vast  in  that  no  spur  to  honour  and  bread  forced  him  tO; 
specialise,  and  all  the  more  useful  and  deep  in  that  the  love 
of  study  alone  had  caused  him  to  acquire  it.  It  is  to  this 
training,  which  Gobineau  gave  himself — the  only  training  for 
a  man  worth  having  nowadays — that  he  owes  his  freedom 
from  many  of  the  popular  or  academic  prejudices  of  his  time 
and  country. 

While  thus  occupied  with  his  studies  in  Paris,  the  young 
Count  made  the  acquaintance  of  Alexis  de  Tocqueville,  the 
famous  author  of  La  Dhnocratie  en  Ajnerique,  who  in  1848 
became  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs.  Tocqueville  appointed 
Gobineau  his  private  secretary,  and  soon  afterwards  chief  of 
his  Cabinet.  Thus  Gobineau,  who  had  never  dreamt  of 
taking  active  part  in  political  affairs,  saw  himself  launched 
upon  a  career  which  was — in  its  diplomatic  variety — to  become 
the  career  of  his  life. 

De  Tocqueville  did  not  retain  his  post  for  long.  On 
retiring,  however,  he  recommended  his  young  friend  to  his 
successors,  with  each  of  whom  Gobineau  remained  popular. 
One  of  them.  General  Marquis  d'  Hautpoul,  nominated  him 
CO  be  first  secretary  to  the  French  Embassy  at  Berne. 

This,  no  doubt,  was  an  easy  post  and  thus  quite  suitable  to 
the  literary  propensities  of  Arthur  Gobineau.  It  was  here  and 
later  on  at  Hanover  and  Frankfort  that  he  wrote  from  the 
notes  collected  during  his  Parisian  studies  his  famous  Essai 
sur  rinegalite  des  races  humaines.  This  book,  which  he 
published  in  two  volumes,  one  in  1853  and  the  other  in  1855, 
gives  us  the  key  to  Gobineau's  personality  and  the  quintessence 
of  all  his  thought. 

In  Frankfort  Gobineau  made  the  acquaintance  of  Bismarck, 
but  the  Prussian  politician,  as  was  to  be  expected,  took  notice 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

neither  (-•[  ihe  young  diplomatist  nor  of  his  extraorilin:iry 
ideas.  IJisniarck  apparcntl}-  was  so  busy  fighting  the  Austrian 
preponderance  and  pretensions  to  supremacy  that  he  quite 
overlooked  the  man  who  was  destined,  more  than  himself,  to 
give  new  blood  and  new  beliefs  to  the  future,  just  as  he  over- 
looked Schopenhauer,  who,  already  famous,  was  then  living 
at  Frankfort.  Thus  in  the  long  run  the  politician,  even  the 
politician  of  genius,  is  always  beaten  by  the  man  of  thought, 
the  creator  of  ideas :  empires  vanish,  but  thought  is  immortal. 
Much  more  interest  in  Gobineau  was  taken  by  Bismarck's 
enemy  and  antagonist,  Baron  von  Prokesch-Osten,  who  was 
not  only  a  diplomatist  but  likewise  an  eminent  writer  on 
Oriental  subjects.  He  was  a  very  able  disciple  of  Metternich 
and  became  well  known  later  on  as  Austrian  Ambassador  in 
Constantinople.  "  Is  the  Gobineau  who  has  written  the  book 
on  the  Inequality  of  the  Human  Races  one  of  your  relatives  ?  " 
the  old  gentleman  once,  asked  the  Count.  "  I  have  written  it 
myself."  "What — and  so  young?"  was  the  astonished  answer. 
Throughout  his  life  Gobineau  maintained  cordial  relations  with 
the  Baron,  and  kept  up  a  most  interesting  correspondence 
with  his  admirer,  who  lived  to  a  very  great  age. 

In  1854  Gobineau  was  nominated  first  secretary  to  the 
Embassy  in  Teheran,  and  took  with  him  his  wife,  whom 
he  had  married  eight  years  previously,  and  his  little 
daughter.  He  was  delighted  to  go  there,  for,  in  spite  of  his 
Germanic  propensities,  the  Orient,  from  his  youth  upwards, 
had  always  greatly  attracted  him.  He  went  there  with 
the  firm  resolution — so  rarely  found  in  a  European  diplo- 
matist— to  try  to  understand  the  Asiatics.  He  learned  the 
language  of  the  country,  he  sought  the  acquaintance  of 
erudite  Persians,  he  cultivated  friendship  with  anyone  who 
could  be  of  use  to  his  eager,  searching  mind.  "  I  have  tried 
to  banish  from  my  mind  any  idea  of  true  or  false  superiority 
over  the  people  that  I  have  studied.  Before  delivering  judg- 
ment on  them  and  on  their  peculiarities,  I  have  attempted  to 
get  into  their  habits  of  thought,  I  have  tried  to  see  things 

viii 


INTRODUCTION 

from  their  point  of  view."  Thus  Gobineau  wrote  in  his  book 
"Three  Years  in  Asia,"  which  he  pubhshed  in  1856  on  his 
return  to  France.  But  another  and  more  important  book  was 
the  fruit  of  his  Persian  sojourn,  a  book  which  had  some  success 
even  during  the  author's  lifetime.  It  is  entitled  "  The 
Religions  and  Philosophies  of  Central  Asia,"  and  certainly 
ranks  amongst  the  best'  that  Gobineau  has  ever  written.  We 
shall  hear  more  of  it  later  on. 

On  his  return  to  France,  Gobineau  was  sent  on  a  French 
man-of-war  to  Newfoundland  in  order  to  settle  the  eternal 
question  of  the  fishing  rights  with  the  representatives  of  the 
British  Government.  He  again  profited  from  this  journey,  and 
brought  back  a  book,  "Voyage  to  Newfoundland."  In  a  little 
book  published  later,  under  the  title  "  Reminiscences  of  Travel," 
which  contained  three  little  stories,  there  is  one  that  has  its 
scene  in  Newfoundland.  It  is  the  story  of  a  vain  Parisian,  a 
man  about  town,  with  whom  a  British  Colonial  girl  falls  in 
love,  and  who  thus — quite  contrary  to  his  expectation — sees 
himself  taken  seriously  by  the  simple  Anglo-Saxon  tempera- 
ment, and  threatened  with  that  Waterloo  of  all  philanderers 
and  poets,  to  wit,  matrimony.  This  story  could  only  be 
written  by  a  good  European,  that  is  to  say  by  a  man  who, 
like  Gobineau,  understood  the  weaknesses  of  his  own  as  well 
as  the  virtues  and  shortcomings  of  other  peoples.  He  was 
entirely  above  the  two  nations  and  was  thus  enabled  to 
describe  them  with  all  that  bonhomie  and  true  satire  which 
is  and  always  must  be  the  outcome  of  a  certain  good-natured 
contempt  for  its  object. 

In  the  year  1861  Gobineau  was  sent  again  to  Teheran,  this 
time  as  chief  of  the  French  Embassy,  and  here  he  passed  two 
years  in  succession.  During  this  time  he  tried  to  make  use  of 
his  great  personal  influence  in  Persian  circles  to  gain  a  footing 
for  France  in  that  country,  where  Russia  and  England  were 
not  yet  so  firmly  established  as  they  are  to-day.  But  in 
Paris  his  ideas  were  considered  those  of  a  dreamer:  in  this 
world  the  rare  man  of  healthy  ima'Tination  is  usiial]\'  ranker! 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 

among  the  idealists,  while  the  real  idealists  always  appeal 
strongly  to  the  men  in  power,  who  usually  are  Philistines 
and  stand  in  sore  need  of  a  little  romanticism  as  a  welcome 
antidote  to  their  prosaic  souls.  The  French  bureaux,  the  seat 
of  power  in  modern  France,  had  always  distrusted  the  Count, 
wliom  the)'  could  not  forgive,  because,  besides  an  anti- 
democrat,  he  was  also  a  "  scribbler,"  a  fact  which,  combined 
with  the  want  of  success  even  in  this  inferior  direction,  was  a 
sure  sign  of  a  wild  personality.  Long  ago  a  friendly  Minister 
of  Foreign  Affairs  had  said  to  Gobineau,  alluding  to  his  essay  : 
"  A  scientific  book  of  such  importance  will  do  your  diplomatic 
career  no  good  ;  on  the  contrary  it  may  do  you  a  great  deal 
of  harm ! " 

Gobineau  soon  discovered  that  this  Minister  was  rieht,  and 
that  neither  his  books  nor  his  political  ideas  had  influenced  the 
central  authorities  in  his  favour.  When,  in  1864,  he  applied 
for  an  appointment  in  Constantinople,  his  request  was  not 
granted.  He  was  sent  to  Athens  instead,  where  he  published 
the  two  books  mentioned  above,  his  "Reminiscences  of 
Travel"  and  "The  Religions  and  Philosophies  of  Central 
Asia."  He  wrote  and  published  some  other  books  besides 
during  his  stay  at  Athens :  "The  History  of  the  Persians,"  the 
"Asiatic  Novels,"  and  a  number  of  poems,  which  received 
the  title  of  "  Aphroessa." 

In  the  year  1868  the  count  was  transferred  from  Athens  to 
Rio  de  Janeiro,  where  he  suffered  a  great  deal  from  uncon- 
genial surroundings.  It  may  be  easily  imagined  that  an 
aristocratic  nature,  a  firm  believer  in  good  blood,  could  not 
but  he  shocked  and  horrified  by  the  aspect  of  that  mixed 
population  (all  the  more  repugnant  because  it  is  a  prosperous 
mixed  population)  which  the  two  Americas,  those  of  the 
north  and  south,  offer  to  a  cultured  European.  His  only  con- 
solation was  the  friendship  with  the  Emperor  Dom  Pedro, 
who  seems  to  have  suffered  from  his  exile  as  much  as  Gobineau, 
and  who   probably  complained  to  the  French   Count  often 

X 


INTI^ODUCTION 

enough  in  the  orthodox  Ovidian  strain  about  his  Brazihan 
isolation : 

"  Barbarus  laic  ego  sum,  quia  non  intelligor  ulli." 

(Here  I  am  a  barbarian,  because  there  is  nobody  who  understands  me.) 

The  Emperor  seems  to  have  had  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
Count  Gobineau's  books,  and  every  Sunday  the  two,  the 
Monarch  and  the  French  Ambassador,  met  for  long  conversa- 
tions. Even  after  Gobineau — for  reasons  of  health — had  left 
Brazil,  this  friendship  was  maintained  by  means  of  a  long 
correspondence,  a  correspondence  which  was  only  interrupted 
by  the  prolonged  stay  of  the  Emperor  in  Europe  during  the 
years  1871,  1876  and  1877. 

The  war  of  1870  found  Count  Gobineau  in  France.  He 
had  inherited  a  fortime  from  his  uncle  Thibault-Joseph, 
and  had  with  part  of  the  money  bought  the  castle  of  Trye-en- 
Vexin,  which  he  considered  as  the  cradle  of  the  Norman  House 
of  Gournay,  the  house  from  which  his  mother  was  descended. 
As  the  Mayor  of  Trye  he  was  able  to  do  a  great  deal  for  his 
fellow-citizens  during  the  war.  He  spoke  German  fluently,  he 
had  a  good  knowledge  of  the  German  character,  and  was  able 
by  means  of  successful  parleys  with  the  victorious  generals  to 
shield  his  district  from  a  great  deal  of  severe  treatment. 
Unlike  Taine  and  Renan  and  so  many  other  Frenchmen,  he 
had  foreseen  the  defeat  of  his  country:  he  likewise  thought 
that  France,  on  account  of  her  rampant  democracy,  had 
thoroughly  deserved  that  defeat.  But  his  aversion  to  demo- 
cratic France  did  not  prohibit  him  from  doing  what  he  could 
for  her  in  the  hour  of  danger,  and  thus  this  despiser  of  patriots 
and  democrats  was  of  more  use  to  his  fatherland  than  many  of 
its  enthusiastic  and  well-meaning,  but  less  intelligent  wor- 
shippers. When  the  war  was  over  the  town  of  Beauvais 
publicly  acknowledged  its  gratitude  to  the  Count.  His 
grateful  fellow-citizens  even  wished  to  send  him  fo  Parliament 
or  to  the  Senate,  an  honour  which  Gobineau,  as  gentilhomme 
and  hontiHe  homme  and  disbeliever  in  the  divine  right  of  the 


INTRODUCTION 

people  and  its  votes,  liad  to  decline  with  polite  though  deter- 
mined thanks. 

In  iS;j  Gobineau  was  sent  to  Stockholm.  There,  as  else- 
where, he  does  not  seem  to  have  found  many  congenial  friends 
amongst  his  colleagues  and  apparently  led  a  very  solitary  life. 
And  these  colleagues  themselves  do  not  seem  to  have  had  at 
any  time  much  knowledge  of  the  Count's  ideas  and  doings. 
One  day,  for  instance,  Gobineau  in  a  certain  drawing-room  met 
another  diplomatist,  a  former  acquaintance  of  his  German 
days.  This  colleague  was  asked  by  the  lady  of  the  house 
whether  he  knew  the  Count.  "  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  reply, 
"  the  worthy  Gobineau,  of  course,  I  know  him."  "  You  see," 
whispered  Gobineau  (who  was,  of  course,  highly  amused 
at  being  called  "worthy"  while  propagating  so  many  daring 
ideas),  "  you  see,  madam,  how  well-known  I  am,"  and  in  his 
simple  and  good-natured  manner  he  heartily  shook  hands  with 
the  great  connoisseur  of  human  character.  It  must  be  added, 
however,  that  Gobineau  himself  was  apparently  not  desirous 
of  leading  people  on  to  the  right  track  about  himself  and  his 
literary  achievements.  He  was  not  a  man  of  letters,  but  a 
gentleman  of  letters,  and  as  such  was  not  given  to  talking  over- 
much of  his  printed  offspring.  He  also,  no  doubt,  knew  what 
kind  of  literary  people  a  democratic  age  brings  to  pre-eminence, 
and  in  order  not  to  be  mistaken  for  one  of  the  geniuses  of 
the  day  he  may  not  have  cared  to  acknowledge  his  author- 
ship in  public.  He  never  looked  a  genius  either :  like  young 
Professor  Nietzsche,  he  had  something  military  in  his  bearing 
as  well  as  in  his  manner,  so  that  a  flunkey  in  the  Tuileries. 
whom  he  had  asked  a  question  one  day,  replied  to  him,  "Oui, 
mon  general ! " 

In  1876  Gobineau  received  leave  of  absence  from  his 
government,  which  enabled  him  to  accompany  the  Emperor  of 
Brazil  on  a  journey  to  Russia,  Turkey,  and  Greece.  They 
returned  by  way  of  Rome,  where  Gobineau  for  the  first  time 
met  Richard  Wagner,  who,  as  the  Count's  discoverer,  was 
destined  to  plnv  a  certain  part  in  his  life.     Tt  was,  however, 

xu 


INTRODUCTION 

not  a  case  of  appreciation  "at  first  sight"  ;  it  was  not  until  a 
year  later,  when  Wagner  had  read  Gobineau's  book  on  the 
Renaissance,  that  he  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  who  the 
French  Count  really  was.  But  from  this  time  a  rather  close 
friendship  sprang  up  between  the  composer  and  the  ambas- 
sador, a  friendship  which  led  to  a  great  deal  of  personal 
intercourse  and  was  destined  to  last  till  the  end  of  Gobineau's 
life. 

This  end,  however,  was  hastened  by  the  ill-use  to  which 
Gobineau  was  subjected  on  the  part  of  his  old  enemies  the 
govermental  bureaux  in  Paris.  They  apparently  knew  what 
an  enemy  of  their  order  and  class  they  had  to  deal  with, 
and  pensioned  the  independent  Count  off  before  his  time. 
As  if  wishing  to  poison  the  wound  they  thus  inflicted,  they 
nominated  as  his  successor  the  Marquis  de  Tamissier, 
whose  real  name  was  Carrier.  This  Carrier  was  a  grand- 
son of  the  notorious  Carrier  who,  when  sent  as  commis- 
sioner by  the  Convention  to  Nantes,  had  thousands,  of  people 
executed,  some  by  the  rapid  method  of  drowning  in  the 
Loire.  "  The  grandson  of  the  Carrier  of  the  Noyades  de 
N antes,"  wrote  Gobineau  to  a  friend,  "  the  Carrier  of  the 
'  Republican  IMarriages '  (the  drowning  of  a  man  and  woman 
bound  together  was  called  by  the  popular  wit  a  '  Republican 
Marriage')  it  is  he  who  is  going  to  be  my  successor."  Thus 
ran  the  complaint  of  our  anti-Jacobin  ambassador,  whose 
manly  heart  must  have  been  sore  at  the  double  affront  offered 
him.  Soon  afterwards  his  health  broke  down,  his  eyes  began 
to  trouble  him,  and  he  likewise  suffered  some  heavy  monetary 
losses.  He  went  to  Rome,  where  he  led  a  very  simple  life, 
occupying  himself  with  sculpture,  which  since  his  residence  in 
Athens  had  been  a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  him.  From 
time  to  time  he  went  to  Bayreuth,  where  he  enchanted  the 
Germans  by  his  tales  of  many  lands — but  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  he  was  an  old  and  broken  man,  and  that  only 
thus  can  the  friendship  between  such  a  fantastic  thinker  as 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 

Wagner  and  such   a  profound   mind  as  Gobineau  be  satis- 
facloril)-  explained. 

During  the  winter  of  1 881-1882  his  health  deteriorated  more 
and  more.  In  the  spring  he  went  to  Bayreuth,  but  could  not 
stop  more  than  two  days.  He  then  went  to  Gastein,  where 
he  slightly  improved.  During  the  summer  he  visited  his 
friends  the  Count  and  Countess  de  la  Tour  in  their  chdteau  in 
the  Auvergne.  When  the  autumn  came  he  wished  to  return  to 
Italy  and  left  his  hosts  on  October  nth  to  go  to  Pisa.  In 
Turin,  on  the  13th,  while  trying  to  get  into  the  railway  carriage, 
he  had  a  sudden  seizure  and  had  to  be  carried  back  to  the 
hotel.  A  priest  was  called  who  administered  the  last  consola- 
tion of  the  Church,  but  stated  later  on  that  the  Count  ,w,as 
already  unconscious  and  unable  to  appreciate  the  benefit  con- 
ferred upon  him.  The  power  of  the  great  freethinker's  mind 
was  such  that  it  could  even  give  way  at  the  right  moment ! 


II 

When  Gobineau  was  an  old  man,  his  Essay  on  the 
Inequality  of  Human  Races  went  into  a  second  edition,  to 
which  he  prefixed  a  new  introduction.  In  this  he  declares : 
"  I  leave  these  pages  just  as  I  wrote  them  many  years 
ago,  when  the  doctrine  they  contain  sprang  out  of  my 
mind  just  like  a  bird  that  puts  its  head  out  of  its  nest  and 
then  seeks  its  way  in  illimitable  space."  This  poetical 
sentence  alone  gives  the  reader  a  hint  of  the  great  value 
of  the  book,  a  value  which  at  first  sight  might  not  seem 
so  obvious.  For  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  Essay  is  not  free 
from  faults.  It  is  very  long,  it  is  rather  chaotic,  and  it  is  dry 
reading  in  places.  It  suffers  from  great  prejudices  and  from 
some  omissions.  Neither  its  facts,  nor  its  theories,  nor  its 
judgments  are  wholly  admirable  or  even  true.  But  what  is 
wholly  admirable  is  the  spirit  in  which  the  book  is  written. 

xiv 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  one  ol  the  few  books  that  had  to  be  written — the  author's 
heart,  one  feels,  would  have  burst  in  the  fulness  of  its  ecstasy, 
if  it  had  not  found  an  outlet  on  paper.  The  book  is  full  of 
inward  fire,  of  fire  only  half  hidden  and  breaking  out  again  and 
again  from  underneath  the  grey  ashes  of  scientific,  archaeo- 
logical, historic,  Imguistic  and  other  facts.  It  is  a  rebellious 
book,  but  the  rebel  in  this  case  is  a  creative  rebel,  a  rebel  from 
above,  a  rebel  against  the  rebels  of  his  time,  and,  let  me  add, 
of  our  own  time.  He  is  an  aristocratic  rebel,  who  has  deduced 
and  proves  from  history  a  terrible  truth  which  he  throws  like 
a  bomb  into  the  faces  of  the  victorious  heretics,  reformers, 
radicals,  socialists,  and  other  Philistines  and  Pharisees  of 
revolution.  This  truth  discovered  by  Gobineau  is  the  all- 
importance  of  race.  This  truth  is  the  neglect  of  the  principle 
of  race  under  democratic  conditions.  This  truth  is  the  refuta- 
tion of  the  democratic  idea  that  by  means  of  an  improvement 
in  environment  a  healthy  and  noble  people  could  be  produced 
out  of  a  rotten  stock. 

Gobineau's  "system,"  as  explained  in  the  Essay,  is  the 
following  :  "  The  history  of  mankind  proves  that  the  destinies 
of  people  are  governed  by  a  racial  law.  Neither  irreligion, 
nor  immorality,  nor  luxurious  living,  nor  weakness  of  govern- 
ment is  causing  the  decadence  of  civilisations.  If  a  nation 
goes  down,  the  reason  is  that  its  blood,  the  race  itself,  is 
deteriorating.  Now,  there  has  been  only  one  race  that  was 
able  to  create  a  civilisation,  because  it  alone  possessed  the 
element  of  order  and  a  certain  healthy  imagination,  and  that 
was  the  white  race — the  Aryans.  If  there  had  only  been 
Aryans  on  earth,  humanity  would  have  been  easily  and  for 
ever  perfectible.  But  there  were  inferior  races  as  well,  the 
yellow  and  the  black  races,  which  always  and  everywhere 
adulterated  the  pure  white  blood.  These  mixtures,  no  doubt, 
have  benefited  the  yellows  and  the  blacks,  and  thus  even 
these  mixtures  have  created  something  in  this  world.  But  the 
Aryan  blood,  again  and  again  rejuvenating  inferior  peoples, 
has  finally  exhausted  itself.     There  is  consequently  nothing 

XV 


INTRODUCTION 

Icll  111  llub  world  ol  uuib  but  hali-casles,  that  is  lo  say,  cowardly 
iuid  iuipotent  peoi)le,  ready  to  adapt  themselves  to  any  law 
and  any  master,  and  nut  minding  the  loss  of  their  personality, 
because  they  do  not  happen  to  possess  one." 

History,  philolog)',  archaeology,  anthropology,  are  called  in 
by  the  author  to  support  his  thesis,  or  rather  his  cry  of  alarm. 
For  the  poet  again  and  again  peeps  out  from  behind  his 
pedantic,  dry,  and  scientific  mask,  and  this  long  epic,  which 
might  litly  be  called  "  The  Twilight  of  the  Aryan,"  rings  out 
in  a  noble  and  passionate  complaint,  worthy  of  a  great  author 
and  laying  bare  the  bleeding  heart  of  a  Jewish  prophet : 

"Not  death,  but  the  certainty  of  dying  in  degradation,  is 
the  gloomy  prospect  in  store  for  us  ;  and  perhaps  this  disgrace 
that  is  doomed  to  fall  upon  our  posterity  might  leave  us  cold, 
did  we  not  feel,  with  a  hidden  thrill  of  terror,  that  the  clawing 
hands  of  destiny  are  already  upon  our  shoulders." 

If  we  wish  to  gauge  the  importance  and  novelty  of  this 
idea,  we  must  go  back  to  the  nineteenth  century  and  remember 
the  two  main  currents  of  thought  regarding  men,  currents 
which  we  shall  understand  all  the  better  as  they  are  still 
flowing,  though  with  diminished  strength,  through  the  thought 
of  our  own  day.  One  of  these  is  the  spirituaHstic  current  of 
Christianity,  the  Christianity  that  wishes  to  save  every  soul 
because  it  thinks  everyone  perfectible  and  possibly,  if  con- 
verted to  the  eternal  truth,  equal  to  everybody  else.  In 
opposition  to  this  trend  of  thought  stands  the  materialistic 
school  of  the  natural  scientist,  a  school  ba.sed  upon  the  ideas 
of  Montesquieu,  Herder,  and  Hegel,  or  in  this  country,  of 
Buckle  and  John  Stuart  Mill,  according  to  which  a  human  being 
is  an  unstable  entity  dependent  upon  outside  circumstances 
and  changing  with  them — a  creature,  in  short,  of  chance  and 
environment.  In  opposition  to  both  these  schools,  the 
spiritualistic  and  the  materialistic,  Count  Gobineau  had  the 
courage  to  declare,  in  the  midst  of  his  dark  age,  that  the  environ- 
ment scarcely  mattered,  that  the  "  eternal  truth "  was  an 
impotent  assumption,  and  that  everything,  perfectibility  as  well 

xvi 


INTRODUCTION 

as  history,  depended  upon  the  blood,  upon  the  race.  His  con- 
clusions were  the  same  as  Disraeli's,  who  probably  had  never 
heard  of  him  :  '"  All  is  race,  there  is  no  other  truth." 

From  this  little  glimpse  at  the  Essay  alone  we  may  perceive 
that  we  have  to  do  with  an  author  of  the  aristocratic  school, 
that  is  to  say,  of  a  school  that  heartily  despises  the  values  of 
modern  morality.  Gobineau,  it  will  be  seen,  belongs  to  the 
same  school  as  Nietzsche,  and  thus  he  not  only  despises  our 
current  opinions  on  "good  and  evil,"  but  he  fears  and  loathes 
them  on  account  of  their  deleterious  effect  upon  humanity. 
For  Gobineau  as  well  as  Nietzsche  had  noticed  fifty  years 
ago  what  the  most  cultured  people  of  to-day  are  only  beginning 
to  suspect,  that  our  moral  values,  the  values  of  Democracy, 
SociaHsm,  Liberalism,  Christianity,  lead  to  the  survival  of  a 
type  of  man  who  has  no  right  to  survive,  or  who  ought 
only  to  survive  on  an  inferior  plane.  Gobineau  as  well 
as  Nietzsche  knew  that  "good"  under  the  present  values 
and  in  our  time  only  means  "  tame,  adaptable,  conven- 
tional," at  best  "  industrious,  persevering,  efficient  and  business- 
like." Both  could  never  forget,  and  again  and  again  they 
emphasize  the  fact,  that  goodness  in  non-vulgar  times  meant 
something  quite  different  from  to-day,  that  goodness  once 
upon  a  time  signified  "energy,  bravery,  daring,  strength  of 
character,  power  of  endurance,  power  of  attacking,  power  of 
overcoming,"  that  it  did  not  mean  "  harmlessness,  absence  of 
faults  and  vices,  negative  virtue,  female  virtue,  commercial 
sharpness  and  cleverness,  mediocrity." 

True,  Gobineau  did  not,  like  Nietzsche,  hold  Christianity 
openly  responsible  for  this  transvaluation  of  noble  values  into 
coward's  values,  but  he  nevertheless  agrees  with  him  as  to  the 
source  of  this  evil  by  pointing  with  great  emphasis  to  the  influ- 
ence of  the  later  Semitic  race.  To  the  earlier  Semite,  the 
warrior-Semite,  the  Semite  under  his  kings,  he  seems  to  have 
given  full  approval.  This  Shnite-blanc  primitif,  as  he  is 
called  in  the  Essay  is,  according  to  the  author,  even  a  near 
relation  to  his  hero,  the   Aryan,   and  his  actions,  as  those 

B  xvii 


INTRODUCriON 

ol"  unbroken  conqueror  tribes,  found  in  Gobineau  a  natural 
and  willing  admirer.  Unfortunately  these  early  white  Semites 
mixed  their  blood  with  lower  races  and  thus  degenerated. 
Through  this  mixture,  the  race  of  Shem  fell  for  ever  from  the 
high  position  it  held  in  the  ancient  world  ;  nay,  it  even  became 
U  fond  corruptcur  of  this  ancient  world,  and  by  its  inter- 
marriage with  the  pure  and  noble  Aryan  blood  it  ruined  tlie 
race  of  Rome.  Here  it  will  be  seen,  we  come  across  one  of 
those  deductions  of  Gobineau's  which  he — to  satisfy  his  theory 
that  every  degeneration  arises  from  the  crossing  of  races — 
had  to  make,  but  which  is  nevertheless  only  a  partial  truth. 
For  how,  we  may  ask,  could  these  insignificant  Semitic  tribes 
spoil  the  noble  blood  of  a  whole  mighty  empire,  even  supposing 
that  some  of  them  did  intermarry  with  the  Romans,  which  the 
Jews,  as  far  as  we  know,  never  did  to  a  great  extent  ?  And 
what,  it  might  be  asked,  led  the  proud  Romans  to  intermarry 
with  such  inferior  beings  ? 

This  is,  no  doubt,  a  weak  point  in  Gobineau's  system :  he 
overrates  the  physical  effects  of  a  race  and  neglects  its 
spiritual  influence  ;  he  overlooks  the  influence  of  ideas  and 
values.  Surely  a  race  may  influence  the  world  directly  by  its 
blood  ;  but  yet  more  frequent  and  much  more  powerful  is  the 
indirect  influence,  the  influence  of  ideas,  and  this  is  the 
influence  which  the  Jews  have  exercised.  It  was  by  means 
of  their  ideas,  not  by  means  of  their  blood,  that  the  Semitic 
race  broke  the  Roman  Empire.  It  was  Christianity,  that 
popular  accentuation  of  Judaism,  which  among  the  slaves, 
women,  and  weaklings  of  Rome  found  such  a  ready  accept- 
ance, that  slowly  but  surely  undermined  that  unique  and 
flourishing  empire.  It  was  Christianity  that  made  the  slaves 
equal  to  their  masters,  that,  helped  by  decadent  Pagan 
philosophy,  poisoned  the  good  conscience  and  healthy 
instincts  of  these  masters,  and  finally  led  them  to  intermarry 
with  slaves  and  barbarians.  It  was  intermarriage  with  the 
non-race,  with  the  people,  that  led  to  the  ruin  of  Rome :  it 
was  the   mixture  of  different  classes  much   more   than   the 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 

mixtures  of  different  races  that  produced  that  decadent  and 
servile  chaos  of  the  later  Roman  Empire. 

But  apart  from  these  minor  shortcomings  there  are  startlmg 
flashes  of  wisdom  in  the  Essay,  flashes  which  attest  the 
unprejudiced  and  pagan  attitude  of  Gobineau's  mind,  and 
further  prove  that  Gobineau  was  a  Nietzschean  before 
Nietzsche.  Gobineau  sees  the  connection  between  later 
Semitism  and  Democracy,  he  sees  that  Democracy  is  the 
enemy  of  all  government  and  all  society :  "  All  civilisations 
that  assume  democratic  forms  are  speedily  ruined,"  he  says. 
In  the  question  of  slavery,  he  is  likewise  in  agreement  with 
Nietzsche  :  "  Slavery,"  says  our  author,  "  like  all  human  institu- 
tions, rests  not  only  upon  constraint  but  upon  other  conditions 
as  well.  .  .  .  There  is  no  doubt  that  slavery  sometimes 
has  a  legitimate  basis,  and  we  are  almost  justified  in 
laying  down  that  in  this  case  it  results  quite  as  much  from  the 
consent  of  the  slave  as  from  the  moral  and  physical  pre- 
dominance of  the  master." 

But  the  real  genius  of  Gobineau,  the  clear  thought,  flashes 
out — just  as  that  of  Schopenhauer  in  his  "  Parerga  and 
Paralipomena " — when  he  forgets  his  system  and  speaks  of 
what  he  has  seen  and  felt. 

Gobineau's  "  Philosophy  of  History,"  as  we  have  seen,  is 
to  some  extent  forced  and  questionable,  and  even  in  its  truer 
and  indisputable  parts  it  has  been  more  lucidly  developed 
by  Friedi'ich  Nietzsche  ;  but  when  the  theory  of  the  Essay 
leaves  Gobineau  he  becomes  a  true  pioneer  of  thought.  I  am 
referring  here  to  a  science — or  rather  an  art,  which,  after  the 
collapse  of  wiredrawn  metaphysics  and  idealist  tomfooleries, 
will  play  the  principal  part  in  any  further  philosophy :  the  art 
of  psychology,  that  is  to  say,  the  insight  into  the  character  of 
human  beings  and  the  subsequent  valuation  of  this  character. 

It  is  in  this  that  Gobineau,  as  a  poet,  excels.  His  psychology 
of  the  yellow  race  (Book  III.,  cap.  4  and  5)  is  a  masterpiece. 
His  description  of  the  purest  and  the  noblest  Aryan  organisa- 
tion, that  of  the  Brahmins,  is  of  the  greatest  value  even  to-dny 

B  2  xix 


INTRODUCTION 

and  of  special  interest  to  Englishmen ;  and  while  perusing 
these  eloquent  chapters  (Book  111.,  cap.  i  and  2)  we  must  not 
forget  that  it  was  penned  iifty  years  before  Meredith 
Townsend,  in  his  "Asia  and  Europe,"  came  to  the  same 
conclusions.  iVll  through  the  book  we  meet  with  observations 
on  the  habits  and  thoughts  of  mankind  which  charm  us  by 
their  truth  and  insight. 

The  Essay,  as  was  to  be  expected,  met  with  little  success. 
Who  in  this  specialised  world  could  take  an  interest  in  a  work 
that  was  based  upon  so  many  different  sciences  ?  Already  the 
diplomatists,  as  we  had  seen,  had  ignored  Gobineau's  ideas  by 
placing  him  amongst  the  litterateurs  and  professional 
Utopians,  while  the  professional  Utopians  were  not  tempted 
to  interest  themselves  in  a  man  who  had  based  his  theories 
upon  such  an  astounding  series  of  facts.  And  those  occupied 
with  facts,  the  professional  scientists,  were  then,  as  now, 
divided  into  a  great  number  of  clans,  each  busying  itself  with  a 
certain  set  of  facts,  and,  if  honest,  not  over-much  inclined  to 
speak  in  public  about  a  book  which  was  beyond  their  compre- 
hension. The  specialisation  of  our  age,  though  of  course  better 
than  an  all-embracing  dilettantism,  is  a  danger  to  all  truly 
comprehensive,  philosophical  works,  which,  even  when  noticed 
by  men  of  science,  are  heartily  recommended  only  to  the 
colleagues  of  another  speciality. 

The  archaeologist  says  that  the  book  in  question  belongs  to 
the  department  of  anthropology,  the  anthropologist  hands  it 
over  to  the  philologist,  the  philologist  shifts  the  duty  on  to 
the  Orientalist,  the  Orientalist  to  the  theologian,  the 
theologian  recommends  it  to  the  earnest  attention  of  the 
historian,  while  the  historian  completes  the  vicious  circle  by 
handing  it  back  to  the  archaeologist.  These  conscientious  men 
of  science  behave  like  a  policeman  whom,  during  my  student 
days,  I  met  one  night  in  an  obscure  quarter  of  Berlin  and  with 
whom  I  struck  up  a  friendship.  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
arrest  a  certain  drunkard  who  made  such  a  terrible  noise 
and  would  surely  do  harm  to  himself  or  others?      "I  never 

XX 


INTRODUCTION 

arrest  a  drunkard,"  he  answered,  "  it  means  so  much  bother 
over  a  Kttle  thing :  if  tiie  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  all  1  do 
is  to  chase  the  fellow  mto  another  policeman's  beat,  and  there 
the  other  policeman,  you  see,  has  the  pleasure  of  running  him 
in  and  giving  evidence  against  him,  and  so  on." 

In  our  times,  however,  wiien  a  book  is  ignored  or  insufficiently 
spoken  about  in  public,  it  is  often  taken  seriously  by  a  select 
circle  ;  nay,  it  may  even  stir  up,  amongst  a  few,  violent  applause 
or  condemnation.  And  that  is  what  happened,  at  least  with 
one  man,  in  the  case  of  Gobineau's  Essay.  It  was  his  mighty 
friend  and  patron,  Alexis  de  Tocqueville,  the  famous  author 
of  La  Dhnocratie  en  Anierique,  who  was  touched  on  the  raw 
by  what  he  called  Gobineau's  dangerous  and  pernicious 
doctrines. 

The  epistolary  interchange  between  Tocqueville  and 
Gobineau  is  all  the  more  interesting  as  Tocqueville's  answers 
are  the  typical  objections  of  his  and  of  our  own  age. 
Tocqueville  was  a  typical  Liberal  representative  of  the  nine- 
teenth century — that  is  to  say,  a  man  whose  opinions  (whether 
he  knows  it  or  not)  are  based  upon  Christian  prejudices.  For 
Liberalism  is  a  latent  religion,  Liberalism  is  crypto-Christianity, 
every  Liberal  is  a  Nazarene  priest  in  mufti.  No  doubt, 
Tocqueville  was  a  very  enlightened  crypto-Christian,  who 
could  not  or  would  not  absolutely  close  his  eyes  to  the  danger 
of  democracy  and  other  unpalatable  facts,  but,  being  a 
Christian,  his  judgments  on  the  one  hand  are  very  pessimistic 
as  regards  human  nature  and  his  proposals  and  remedies  on 
the  other  are  coloured  by  a  puerile  optimism.  The  misgivings 
and  doubts  which  Tocqueville  has  concerning  democracy  are 
many  and  grave,  his  fatalism  and  pessimism  are  as  severe  as  or 
severer  than  Gobineau's  ;  but  he  saves  himself  from  Gobineau's 
conclusion  by  that  peculiar  and  tenacious  hopefulness,  which 
is  the  outcome  of  the  cowardice  so  characteristic  of  the 
Christian  thinker.  Desperately  he  clings  to  the  most  unsub- 
stantiated assertions,  all  the  more  desperately  as  they  are  his 
"  last  straw,"  and  he  knows  that  giving  up  for  a  moment  means 

xxi 


INTRODUCTION 

tlie  break-down  of  his  whole  system.  \\  hich  of  us  has  not  met 
some  philosophic  Liberal,  who,  like  Tocqueville,  has  the 
greatest  contempt  for  his  contemporaries,  who  takes  a  gloomy 
view  about  their  future,  who  deplores  their  want  of  manliness, 
character,  daring  and  independence,  but  who  will  never  draw 
the  right  and  straightforwarci  conclusions  from  these  facts? 
He  will  point  out  that  the  environment  ought  to  be  improved, 
or  that  education  has  been  lacking,  or  that  only  the  upper 
classes  are  spoilt  and  the  people  are  "  quite  sound  "  ;  he  will 
patiently  wait  for  "  evolution  "  or  "  progress  "  to  better  things, 
or  for  co-operative  and  socialistic  reforms,  nay,  he  will  appeal 
to  religion  and  a  revival  of  morality  and  idealism — he  will  do 
an}-thing,  in  short,  rather  than  utter  an  honest  yea  or  nay, 
rather  than  come  to  Gobineau's  conclusion  that  no  apple  tree, 
by  careful  nursing,  will  produce  grapes,  that  no  education  can 
get  out  of  a  man  any  qualities  which  are  not  in  him,  that  base 
blood  cannot  be  turned  into  noble  blood  by  any  "  free  "  patent 
medicine,  and  that  the'  present  race  of  Europeans  has,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  to  be  found  in  all  nations  and  classes 
alike,  become  a  countless  horde  of  helots  v.ho  are  in  many 
instances  even  useless  helots.  It  is  the  shallow  Christian 
Liberalism  of  the  past  century  that  comes  out  in  these  letters 
of  Tocqueville  to  Gobineau,  a  Christian  Liberalism  which  is, 
to  be  sure,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  high-sounding  principles 
and  made  palatable  by  the  well-known  exuberant  phraseology 
of  that  numerous  sect 

Having  received  the  book  on  October  nth,  1853,  M.  de 
Tocqueville  at  once  confesses  that  he  has  a  great  distrust 
of  its  principles  and  ideas  because  "  it  takes  for  granted," 
he  says,  "  the  fatality  of  constitution,  and  this  fatality  is 
applied  not  only  to  individuals  but  likewise  to  that  collection 
of  individuals  called  a  race." 

On  November  17th,  1853,  he  repeats:  "Your  doctrine  is  a 
sort  of  fatalism,  or,  if  you  like,  of  predestination — which,  of 
course,  is  different  from  the  fatalism  of  St.  Augustine,  the 
Jansenists,  and  the  Calvinists,  inasmuch  as  yours  is  based  more 

xxii 


INTRODUCTION 

upon  the  deterioration  of  matter,  or  what  you  call  race.  This 
predestination  seems  to  me  very  nearly  related  to  pure 
materialism.  It  likewise  tends  to  a  great  restriction  of  human 
liberty.  And  this,  of  course,  is  very  bad,"  our  author  con- 
tinues, "  for  how  can  anyone  tell  people  who  already  live  like 
slaves  and  barbarians,  who  are  already  prone  to  any  sort  of 
weakness  and  cowardice,  that  there  is  no  hope  for  them,  no 
possibility  of  perfection,  of  changing  their  habits  and  of  im- 
proving their  government  ?  "  "  Don't  you  see,"  he  concludes, 
"  that  from  your  doctrine  naturally  arise  all  the  evils  of 
inequality,  pride,  violence,  tyranny,  contempt  of  one's 
neighbour,  and  slavery  in  every  form  ? " 

All  these  arguments  are  highly  typical  of  the  Liberal.  It 
is  very  significant  that  he  at  the  outset  tries  to  brand  with  the 
name  of  "  materialist "  a  man  who  troubles  about  science,  about 
race,  about  eugenics,  about  the  body — for  to  the  Christian 
(and  our  Liberal  is  a  Christian)  it  is  the  soul  alone  that  matters, 
at  least  so  long  as  he  is  a  real  Liberal,  and  has  not  forgotten 
or  adulterated  his  own  principles.  Tocqueville's  complaint 
about  Gobineau's  restriction  of  human  liberty  and  his  reproach 
about  a  pure  fatalism  in  Gobineau's  views,  is  likewise  entirely 
Christian,  for  the  Christian  is  forced  by  his  religion  to  believe 
in  free  will,  and  in  the  consequent  perfectibility  of  every 
human  soul,  which,  if  perfected  in  the  orthodox  manner, 
becomes  as  good  as  anybody  else's  soul.  In  this  belief,  in  this 
expectation,  Tocqueville  is  a  glorious  optimist,  an  optimist,  be 
it  understood,  for  the  future,  for  the  kingdom  to  come,  for  the 
Messianic  Empire,  as  promised  by  his  priests,  prophets  and 
other  prestidigitators.  But  when  he  begins  to  judge  present 
conditions,  and  more  still  when  he  begins  to  act,  his  poisoned 
pessimistic  and  nihilistic  nature  and  his  entire  disbelief 
in  everything  and  everybody  around  him  comes  out  most 
shamelessly.  For  the  Christian,  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  has 
the  "evil  eye"  for  "the  world,"  and  is  thus  obliged  to  see  evil 
in  even  the  most  healthy  manifestations  of  human  nature, 
which  his  anti-natural  and  anti-human  morality  forces  him  to 

xxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

condemn.  Wiiat  Tocqucville  Ihinks  of  his  contemporaries  is 
really  much  worse  than  what  Gobineau  thinks,  for  Gobmeau 
only  complains  of  their  weakness,  ad.iptability,  impotence, 
while  Tocqueville  despairs  of  their  very  nature,  and  like  a  true 
Christian  all  the  more  so,  the  more  potent  that  nature  is. 
Thus  Gobineau  despises  but  loves  at  the  same  time,  while 
Tocqueville  fears  and  loathes.  But  in  spite  of  his  loathing 
of  mankind  around  him,  Tocqueville,  as  a  real  Liberal,  care- 
fully avoids  drawing  any  realistic  conclusions  from  his  obser- 
vations. On  the  contrary,  he  who  fears  the  people,  wishes  to 
do  something  for  the  people,  he  who  despairs  of  their  very 
nature,  wishes  them  to  live  on  in  faith,  love  and  hope  for 
something  better,  which  might  possibly  "  turn  up  "  (change  of 
government,  customs,  etc.,  etc.)  without  being  able  to  give  a 
shadow  of  a  practical  proof  why  this  should  be  better  for  them, 
how  it  should  be  brought  about,  and  who  should  bring  it  about. 
Between  the  Scylla  of  a  senseless  optimism  and  the  Charybdis 
of  an  unjust  pessimism  he  sails  along,  and  if  this  Liberal 
Christian  did  not  come  to  grief  long  ago  through  his  want  of 
balance  and  principle,  it  was  not  his  merit,  it  was  the  absence 
ot  any  efficient  counter-current  w^hich  kept  his  unstable  barque 
afloat  during  the  last  century.     Qnousqiie  tandem? 

In  a  letter,  dated  July  30th,  1856,  Tocqueville  comes  back 
to  the  charge  that  Gobineau's  ideas  are  extremely  pernicious 
and  immoral.  He  likewise  throws  out  the  hint,  and  rightly,  I 
think,  that  the  system  is  hostile  to  the  doctrine  of  his  Church, 
and  that  no  one,  not  even  that  "cynic"  Merimee,  would  dare 
to  proclaim  such  views  openly  in  modern  France.  This 
reproach  is  repeated  in  a  more  outspoken  way  in  a  letter  of 
January  14th,  1857.  Here  Tocqueville  writes:  "The  very 
essence  of  Christianity  is  the  endeavour  to  make  out  of 
humanity  a  single  family  whose  members  should  be  equally 
capable  of  perfecting  themselves  and  of  becoming  more  and 
more  similar  to  each  other.  How  can  this  essence  of 
Christianity  be  reconciled  with  a  doctrine  of  history  which 
postulates    different    and    unequal    races,    whose    powers    of 

xxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

judgment  and  action  are  more  or  less  limited,  and  whose 
origmal  dispositions  are  something  fixed,  and  thus  hinders 
some  of  these  races  from  attaining  any  sort  of  perfection? 
Christianity,  certainly  has  tried  to  make  out  of  all  human 
beings  brethren,  and  equal  brethren.  Your  doctrine,  how- 
ever, considers  them  at  the  very  best  like  cousins,  whose 
father  is  in  heaven.  .  .  .  For  you  there  are  no  other  people 
in  this  world  but  the  conquerors  and  the  vanquished,  masters 
and  slaves,  and  that  by  the  very  right  of  birth.  ...  I  there- 
fore wish  to  point  out  to  you  again  that  the  perusal  of 
your  book  has  made  me  very  doubtful  about  your  faith,  your 
religiosity." 

It  is  astonishing — but  in  a  way  easily  explained — that 
Gobineau  denies  with  indignation  the  charge  of  not  being 
a  good  Catholic.  In  one  of  his  answers,  which  gives  us  a  hint 
as  to  the  origin  and  cause  of  the  Essay,  he  tells  Tocqueville 
that  he  has  seen  the  revolution  with  his  own  eyes.  On  this 
occasion  all  the  dirty  blouses  have  produced  such  a  disgust  in 
him,  have  accentuated  his  ideas  of  justice  and  truth  to  such 
an  extent  that,  if  he  had  not  been  married,  he  would  have  been 
capable  of  becoming  a  monk,  only  in  order  to  be  as  antagonistic 
to  the  spirit  of  revolution  as  possible.  ..."  Don't  doubt  my 
religion,"  he  pleads  most  earnestly  with  Tocqueville.  "If  I 
say  I  am  a  Catholic,  it  is  the  truth.  Of  course  I  am  not  a 
perfect  Catholic,  which  I  regret,  though  some  day  I  hope  to 
be  one,  but  at  least  I  am  a  sincere  Catholic,  Catholic  in  heart 
and  soul,  and  if  I  believed  for  a  moment  like  you  that  my 
historical  ideas  were  in  opposition  to  the  Catholic  religion,  I 
should  give  them  up  immediately." 

Such  were  Gobineau's  opinions  on  his  religion  in  early  life, 
opinions  which  no  doubt  became  somewhat  modified  later  on. 
But  on  the  whole  he  really  seems  to  have  had,  like  several 
other  Catholic  free  spirits,  no  idea  or  consciousness  of  his  own 
want  of  orthodoxy.  All  his  attention  was  concentrated  upon 
the  victorious  heretics,  upon  our  modern  revolutionaries,  and 
by  fighting  them  to   the  utmost  of  his  power  it  absolutely 

XXV 


liNlRUDUCTlON 

i"b.capi'Ll  iiim  liiai  he  iuid  abandoned  lus  Church,  a  Church 
which,  in  spile  of  its  pagan  varnishing  cannot  deny  certain 
moral  principles  and  ideas — the  equality  of  man,  original  sin, 
free  will  and  others,  upon  which  the  whole  of  Christianity  is 
founded.  By  fighting  the  heretics  Gobineau  had  become 
a  heretic  himself,  but  a  heretic  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Renaissance,  a  heretic  as  many  brilliant  Popes  had  been  before 
him,  that  is  to  say,  a  heretic  from  above.  He  had  left  his 
Cliurch  unconsciously,  but  rightly,  for  it  must  be  stated  here 
tiiat  no  one  who  wishes  honestly  to  fight  the  spirit  of  revolu- 
tion can  remain,  or  should  remain  within  even  the  Catholic 
Church.  The  Catholic  Church  is  indeed  the  most  pagan  of 
the  Christian  Churches ;  it  is  the  most  anti-Christian  Church 
in  existence  ;  it  is  a  Church  that  to  a  certain  extent  counteracts 
the  baleful  doctrines  of  true  Christianity,  for  it  is  an 
aristocratic  Church — but  it  is  still  a  Church ;  it  would  cease 
to  be  a  Church  if  it  were  to  give  up  Christianity  altogether : 
a  non-Christian  Church,  like  a  plum  cake  without  plums, 
would  be  an  absurdity.  Catholicism  will  always  keep  up 
Christianity,  and  with  Christianity  the  spirit  of  revolution. 
Thus  no  true  enemy  of  the  revolution  can  remain  even 
within  the  Catholic  fold  any  more  than  Gobineau  could. 
But  the  mere  fact  that  Gobineau — at  first,  anyhow — still 
imagined  himself  to  be  a  faithful  son  of  his  Church,  will 
prove  how  naturally  the  spirit  of  an  enlightened  paganism 
arises  in  our  midst,  how  inevitable  is  this  grand  aristocratic 
reaction  against  modern  democracy,  how  healthy  the  whole 
movement  is  and  how  powerful  it  will  one  day  become.  It  is 
a  movement  which  has  filled  some  minds  with  almost  religious 
fervour,  a  very  necessary  fervour,  by  the  bye,  for  democracy 
is  itself  the  outcome  of  a  religion  and  can  only  be  fought  by 
another  religion.  And  it  is  a  European  movement,  to  be  sure, 
just  like  its  enemy,  democracy ;  for  Gobineau  was  by  no 
means  the  only  unconscious  pagan  of  his  age.  In  England  we 
have  had  the  similar  and  still  more  instructive  case  of  Benjamin 
Disraeli.     This  great  man,  for  whom  Christianity  was  only 

xxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

another  form  of  Judaism,  likewise  considered  himself  all  his 
life  as  a  true  son  of  Semitism,  as  a  pillar  of  his  holy  and 
ancestral  creed,  as  a  stalwart  defensor  fidei  against  the 
infidels — and  all  his  life  he  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
by  fighting  English  Liberalism,  Puritanism,  Nonconformity, 
he  was  not  fighting,  as  he  thought,  infidelity,  but  faith,  that  he 
was  really  fighting  his  own  religion,  or  rather,  the  logical 
outcome  of  his  religion. 

Tocqueville's  letter  of   January   24th,    1857,   is  the   fitting 

coping-stone  to  this  memorable  correspondence.     "  Ever  since 

I  have  known  you,"  Tocqueville  writes  in  an  apparent  fit  of 

indignation,  "  I  have  found  your  temperament  essentieilement 

frondeur.  .  .  .  What  end  can  be  served  by  these  political 

discussions  between  us  ?     We  belong  to  two  different  camps, 

cam.ps  that  absolutely  exclude  each  other.     You  consider  the 

human  race  as  consisting  of  big  children ;  and,  besides,  these 

children  are,  according  to  you,  degenerate  and  badly  educated 

children.  ...  I  am,  like  you,  of  the  opinion  that  our  present 

humanity  is  very  badly  educated,  which  tact  is  the  principal 

cause  of  its  miseries  and  weaknesses,  but  I  sincerely  hold  that 

a  better  education  could  remedy  the  evil.     At  any  rate,  1  do 

not  consider  myself  as  justified  in  renouncing  this  task  of 

education  for  ever.     I  believe  that  one  can  still  lead  the  human 

race  towards  better  things,  and  this  by  an  appeal  to  its  natural 

honesty  and  good  sense.     In  short,  I  wish  to  treat  men  as 

grown-up  beings — perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  this.  .  .  .  You,  sir, 

on  the  other  hand,  profoundly  despise  our  human  kind;  at 

least  our  special  part  of  mankind  ;   you  consider  our  people 

not  only  in  a  state  of  momentous  distress  and  submission,  but 

incapable  of  ever  again  rising  to   the  surface.     Their  very 

constitution,  you  think,  condemns  them  to  slavery.  ...  I  do 

not  allow  myself  such  liberty  of  thought  about  my  people  and 

country,  and  I  think  that  no  one  has  any  right  to  come  to 

such    desperate     views    concerning    them.       In    my    eyes, 

individuals    and   societies   only   become    something    through 

liberty.     That  liberty  is  more  difficult  to  establish  and  to  keep 

xxvii 


INTRODUCTION 

up  in  democratic  societies  like  ours  tiian  in  certain  aristocratic 
societies  that  have  preceded  us,  1  have  always  admitted.  But 
that  the  establishment  of  democratic  liberty  is  impossible,  I 
shall  never  be  courageous  enough  even  to  think.  That  any 
attempt  in  this  direction  must  fail,  and  that  there  is  absolutely 
no  hope  for  its  establishment — that  is  a  thought  with  which 
I  would  ask  God  never  to  inspire  me.  No,  no,  I  do  not 
believe,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  believe,  that  this  human  species 
which  is  at  the  head  of  the  visible  universe,  has  become  that 
horde  of  bastards  which  you  think  it,  a  horde  which  conse- 
quently should  be  handed  over  without  future  hope  of  help 
to  a  small  number  of  herdsmen  or  keepers,  who  after  all  are 
not  better  than  we  are  and  sometimes  may  be  even  worse. 
With  your  kind  permission  I  beg  to  say  that  I  have  less 
confidence  in  you  than  in  the  goodness  and  justice  of  our 
Father  in  Heaven." 

This  letter  breathes,  if  not  wisdom,  at  least  honesty. 
Gobineau's  principle  of  race,  as  Tocqueville  rightly  sees,  can 
never  be  "  discussed  "  or  "  explained "  or  "  taught,"  like  that 
Socratic  virtue,  which  proved  its  democratic  origin  by  the  very 
fact  that  it  could  be  taught.  Gobineau's  "Virtue,"  his  prin- 
ciple of  race,  cannot  be  transmitted  in  this  easy  Socratic  way : 
it  must  be  felt,  and  where  it  is  not  felt,  explanations  and 
discussions  are  useless.  But  in  spite  of  Tocqueville  and 
Christianity,  it  is  felt  and  will  be  felt  more  and  more,  and  one 
day  the  decision  between  the  two  different  creeds,  that 
of  Tocqueville  and  that  of  Gobineau,  will  have  to  be  made — 
a  decision,  not  of  Parliament,  but  of  the  battlefield :  for  the 
sons  of  the  Europeans  of  to-day — unlike  their  fathers,  who 
fought  for  markets — will  again  fight  for  ideas. 


XXVlll 


INTRODUCTION 


III 


GOBINEAU  did  not  listen  to  de  Tocqueville.     No  man  who 
wants  to  do  anything  in  this  world  can  or  should  listen  to 
his  friends.     Like  the  treasure-seeker  in  the  Gerinan  fairy 
tale  he  must  pursue   his  lonely  way,  regardless  of   all  the 
warnings,  mysterious  voices,  friendly  admonitions,  frightening 
prophecies,  tempting  offers,  and  fond   entreaties  that  force 
themselves  on  his  attention  and  seek  to  lead  him  astray.     If 
he  gives  in  for  a  moment,  if  he  listens,  if  he  turns  to  the  right 
or  the  left — so  the  tale  runs — he  loses  his  treasure,  his  truth. 
Gobineau  did  not  listen,  and  so  he  found  the  way  to  his  truth. 
But  even  the   bravest  have  their  hours  of  weakness  and 
despair,  and  if  the  brave  soldier  lives  to  a  certain  age  and  has 
experienced   all  the  meanness  and  vicissitudes   of  a  hostile 
world,  he  too,   begins   to  yearn  for  less  solitude  and  more 
gratitude  and  may  be  tempted  to  make — what  other  and  less 
heroic  people  do  all  their  life  long — a  slight  compromise.     It 
was  in  his  old  age,  when  he  was  tired  and  worn  out,  that 
Gobineau  made  a  compromise  which,  I  think,  in  the  interest 
of  his  work,  he  was  perfectly  justified  in  making.     He  had 
become  a  friend  of  Richard  Wagner  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  "  discovered  "  by  this  man,  who  had  not  the  slightest  inkling 
of  what  Gobineau  was  driving  at. 

It  was  a  real  abyss  that  separated  Gobineau  from  Wagner. 
First  of  all  Wagner  had  been  a  revolutionary,  and  Gobineau, 
the  gentilhomme,  the  honniie  homme  of  the  ancient  regime 
abhorred  all  kinds  of  revolutions  and  revolutionaries.  He 
knew  what  to  expect  from  revolutions ;  he  knew  what 
kind  of  people  a  revolution  brings  to  the  top  ;  he  knew  that 
a  revolution  only  causes  a  reaction,  and  that  between  reaction 
and  revolution  the  highest  interests  of  life  suffer,  and  not  only 
suffer,  but  are  often  crushed.  What  had  such  a  man  to  do  with 
Wagner  ?     True,  Wagner  was  now  an  old  man  and  had  turned 


XXIX 


INTRODUCTION 

into  a  romanticist  and  a  Christian.  But  such  characteristics 
could  hkewise  never  please  a  man  hke'Gobincau,  who  knew  (or 
ought  to  have  known)  that  an  old  revolutionary  invariably 
becomes  cither  reactionary  or  a  Christian,  and  who  likewise 
knew  that  revolution,  romanticism  and  Christianity  are  only 
the  three  progressive  stages  of  the  same  decadent  ailment. 
Had  not  he  seen  it  often  enough?  First,  the  revolutionary 
makes  the  world  uglier  and  sicker  than  it  ever  was  before, 
then  the  romanticist  offers  the  "  hashish  "  of  his  art  to  alleviate 
the  torments  of  the  sick,  and  when  the  patient's  senses 
and  intelligence  are  dulled  and  numbed  the  Christian  steps 
in  and  offers  his  panacea  of  redemption  to  the  "  sinner," 
whose  only  sin  is  his  stupidity.  Wagner  had  been  through 
all  the  three  stages  himself ;  he  had  been  a  revolutionary, 
a  romanticist  and  a  Christian,  he  thus  knew  the  needs  of 
his  time  by  his  own  experience,  and  had  some  justification 
for  posing  as  the  principal  adviser  and  physician,  or  rather 
quack  doctor,  to  his  age.  What  had  Gobineau  in  common 
with  this  typical  representative  of  a  decadent  and  neurotic 
epoch  ? 

"  I  call  '  romantic '  the  sick,  and  '  classical '  the  healthy," 
said  Goethe.  Gobineau,  like  Goethe,  belonged  to  the  few 
healthy  minds,  the  few  "  lucky  strokes  "  of  nature,  of  that  most 
unlucky  and  unhealthy  past  century.  He  had  been  healthy 
enough  to  diagnose  the  sickness  of  his  time,  and  could  not 
possibly  overlook  the  sickness  of  his  new  friend,  Richard 
Wagner,  and  his  Bayreuthian  followers.  The  Germanisation 
of  Christianity  by  means  of  a  theatrical  art,  the  redemption  of 
the  world  by  vegetables,  the  improvement  of  the  race  by  more 
love-matches  and  other  fads  of  the  actor  genius,  must  cer- 
tainly have  caused  many  a  smile  to  appear  on  the  lips  of  the 
critical  Count.  On  the  other  hand  he,  no  doubt,  was  too 
much  of  an  homme  dii  jfwnde  to  give  his  whole  mind  to 
his  histrionic  host  and  the  crowd  of  wild  enthusiasts 
around  him.  It  is  nevertheless  on  record  that  he  invariably 
entered   a   sort  of  mild   protest   against   some   of  the   more 

XXX 


INTRODUCTION 

popular  ideas  of  the  musical  reformer.  It  was,  for  instance, 
in  vain  that  Wagner,  who  of  course,  as  a  true  son  of  his 
age,  occupied  himself  with  "  social  questions,"  tried  to  win 
over  his  new  friend  to  Schopenhauer's  philosophy  of  pity. 
To  prefer  in  this  world  the  poor  to  the  rich,  the  fool  to  the 
wise,  the  sick  to  the  healthy,  was  in  Gobineau's  opinion  a  great 
error.  A  brave  and  noble  soul,  he  answered,  is  ready  to  help 
and  give  its  best  to  the  world  in  noble  sacrifice  by  itself  and 
quite  independently  of  any  philosophic  teaching.  To  Christian 
resignation  he  opposed  his  pagan  dignity,  to  Christian  humility 
self  respect,  to  tame  forgiveness  stoical  forbearance  or  con- 
tempt, and  to  the  passive  and  feminine  virtues  of  faith,  hope 
and  love  the  antagonistic  active  and  manly  virtues  of  deed, 
daring  and  bravery  in  thought  as  well  as  in  action. 

And  when  it  came  to  the  equality  of  men  he  would  not 
even  listen.  He  likewise'  abhorred  the  "  Teutonic "  ten- 
dencies of  Wagner,  who  in  these  days  posed  as  Germany's 
truest  protagonist  and  staunchest  defender  against  the 
Jewish  danger.  Gobineau  knew  well  enough  that  these 
Teutonic  tendencies  had  caused  in  the  past  his  Mte  noire, 
that  mother  of  all  modern  revolutions,  the  German  reforma- 
tion. From  his  aristocratic  point  of  view  he  could  only  see  a 
heretic  and  a  revolutionary  in  the  modem  German — and  cer- 
tainly he  could  never  be  persuaded  by  Wagner  to  believe  in 
Germany's  "great"  reformer.  Martin  Luther.  But  he  seems 
to  have  always  been  civil  and  tolerant  toward  his  German 
acquaintance,  his  long  travels,  residences  abroad  and  know- 
ledge of  mankind  having  no  doubt  taught  him  to  wear  that  mask 
of  bonhomie  which  the  simple-minded  are  apt  to  mistake  for 
affability  and  simplicity,  but  which  is  in  reality  nothing  but  cruel 
contempt  There  is  a  story  related  in  the  Bayreuther  Blatter, 
according  to  which  Wagner  once  praised  the  good  influence  of 
a  well-brewed  beer  upon  his  favourite  Luther  and  had  asked 
Gobineau  to  join  him  in  drinking  the  health  of  the  famous 
miner's  son.  Gobineau  is  said  to  have  winced  a  little,  but 
after  n  while  to  have  joined  in  with  a  smile,  and  the  words : 

xxxi 


INTRODUCTION 

"  Very  well,  let  us  drink  the  beer  to  the  health  of  Martin 
Luther."  It  must  have  been  a  delightful  scene.  Gobineau 
drinking  beer  in  the  company  of  Germans  to  the  health  of 
a  superstitious  monk — does  that  not  remind  one  of  Louis  XVI. 
with  the  red  cap  of  the  revolution  on  his  head  giving  friendly 
nods  to  his  people  below  ? 

There  is  an  article  in  the  May-June  number  (1881)  of  the 
Bayreuther  Blatter,  entitled  "  Heroism  and  Christianity." 
It  is  a  joint  production  of  Montague  and  Capulet,  of  the  Pagan 
and  the  Christian,  of  Gobineau  and  Richard  Wagner. 
Gobineau  wrote  the  article  and  Wagner  added  a  preface 
of  his  own  to  it — and  thus  it  became  a  most  extraordinary 
document,  reminding  one  of  those  Landsknecht-uniforms  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  of  which  one  half  was  yellow  and  the.  other 
red,  or  perhaps,  as  in  this  case,  one  half  black  and  the  other 
white. 

The  black  colour  fittingly  represents  the  gloom  of  Gobineau's 
thought.  He  again  repeats  in  this  article  his  pessimistic  views 
of  the  European  peoples  whose  distinguishing  features  are 
sucked  out  by  the  ever-progressing  vampire  of  democracy,  a 
monster  which  their  want  of  health  and  character  is  unable  to 
resist.  The  views  of  the  Essay  are  reiterated,  but  since  his 
residence  in  Asia  Gobineau  has  noticed  another  cloud  upon 
the  horizon  of  Europe ;  the  yellow  danger,  the  imminent 
Mongolian  expansion.  This  danger  he  thinks  is  even  more 
accentuated  by  the  unconscious  help  it  received  from  those 
"European  door-keepers,"  the  Slavonic  peoples,  who  will  in 
time  be  only  too  ready  to  hand  over  to  their  Asiatic  cousins 
the  keys  of  Europe.  The  gradual  decadence  of  Europe — thus 
Gobineau  concludes — was  announced  long  ago  in  the  Essay: 
the  only  mistake  with  which  he  had  to  reproach  himself,  is 
that  from  an  optimism  peculiar  to  youth  he  had  thought  the 
development  of  this  decadence  much  slower  than  it  really  was 
and  will  turn  out  to  be. 

And  now  let  us  listen  to  the  innocent,  the  "  white,"  the 
Christian  preface-writer  who  naturally  lives  in  hope,  in  love, 

xxxii 


INTRODUCTION 

in  faith,  and  in  other  clouds.     In  a  very  casual  fashion,  Wagner 
at  first  repeats  Gobineau's  ideas  about  the  degeneration  and 
decadence  of  mankind.     He,  like  Gobineau,  thinks  that  this 
degeneration  was  caused  by  the  mixture  of  races  which  was 
brought  about  by  an  initial  fault  of  the  human  race,  inex- 
perienced in  its  youth  as  it  then  was.     This  initial  fault,  it 
will  be  seen,  has  already  a  somewhat  Semitic  flavour :  for  by 
means  of  it  the  concept  of  "  original  sin  "  is  smuggled  into  the 
system  of  Gobineau.     But  Wagner  forgets  or  wishes  to  forget 
that    Gobineau    declares    this    fault    to    be    absolutely   fatal, 
ineradicable ;    for    Gobineau,    not   being  a   theologian   or  a 
Teutonic  metaphysician,  preferred  to  stick  to  scientific  observa- 
tions, however  disagreeable  they  might  turn  out  to  be.     But 
Wagner    knew    what    he     was    doing    when    he    declared 
"decadence"  to  be  a  "fault"  and  a  "sin."     A  sin,  of  course, 
allows  of  redemption  ;  and  by  means  of  the  redemption  which 
our  Christian  has  to  offer,  Gobineau's  pessimism  is  turned  into 
more  hopeful  channels.     Man,  no  doubt,  is  a  damnable  sinner 
and  a  miserable  decadent,  but  likewise  a  possible  future  hero- — 
thus   Wagner's    secret    thought   runs.      It   is   an    astounding 
assumption,  but  what   assumptions  are  impossible   to   pious 
souls,  what  benumbing  of  reason  are  they  not  capable  of? 

For  our  composer,  who  was  now  a  Christian,  was  as  such  not 
allowed  to  lose  hope  in  the  sinner  and  the  decadent,  as  did  that 
gifted,  though  perhaps  too  gloomy,  Gobineau.  Wagner,  there- 
fore, in  the  latter  half  of  this  article,  "  Heroism  and  Christianity," 
expresses  the  firm  belief,  that  out  of  the  chaos  of  stupidity 
and  impotence,  which  "our  friend  Gobineau"  has  laid  bare, 
salvation  is  still  possible.  True,  the  blood  of  the  most  noble 
races  has  deteriorated,  but  even  for  the  most  humble  race  and 
individual  there  must  be  a  way  to  hope  and  health.  By  means  of 
that  "  only  genuine  Christian  Sacrament,  which  consists  in  the 
symbolic  consumption  of  the  blood  of  Christ,"  a  divine  purifica- 
tion might  be  effected,  and  he,  Wagner,  would  recommend 
this  Sacrament  as  a  sure  antidote  against  the  degeneration  of 

C  xxxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

nuuikiiul  which  Gobmeau  had  dcscnbcd  in  such  a  masterly 
aiaiuicr  in  his  Essay  on  the  Inequality  of  Human  Races. 

Rightl}-,  M.  Scillicre,*  the  intelligent  French  critic,  who 
unfortunately  is  not  poet  enough  himself  to  appreciate  to  a 
proper  degree  either  a  Gobineau  or  a  Nietzsche,  says  "  Talk 
history  to  a  mystic  like  Wagner!  Gobineau's  labour  on 
such  a  man  is  lost  entirely,  lliis  thick-skinned  interpreter 
of  his  thinks  that  the  only  consequence  of  Gobineau's 
gloom  and  bitterness  will  be  to  inspire  a  certain  whole- 
some shock  to  our  thoughtless  age,  to  shake  that  easy 
optimism  in  which  we  still  indulge,  and  thus  to  prepare  us 
gently  for  that  holy  path,  that  path  of  sighs  and  tears  that 
leads  to  Golgotha  and  the  Cross.  Is  it  possible  to  love  each 
other  more  and  understand  each  other  less  than  this  prefacer 
and  his  author  have  done?" 

No,  it  is  not ;  but,  nevertheless,  to  this  hopeless  misunder- 
standing on  the  part  of  Wagner,  Gobineau  owes  his  discovery  : 
without  his  blind  friend,  Gobineau  might  have  remained 
unknown  to  this  very  day.  The  whole  world  would  have 
been  poorer  for  it,  but  the  loss  would  have  been  mostly  felt 
by  the  Germans,  with  whom  Gobineau  has  become  a 
popular  hero,  a  protagonist  of  the  Empire,  a  name  to  conjure 
with  for  all  the  enemies  of  the  Fatherland :  Jews,  Catholics, 
Poles,  Latins,  and  other  second-rate  people.  But  this  popu- 
larity of  Gobineau  in  Germany — an  irony  as  great  as  that  of 
Gobineau's  discovery  by  a  romantic  musician — is  entirely  due 
to  a  misunderstanding  of  Gobineau  on  the  part  of  the 
Germans,  a  misunderstanding,  however,  which  is  to  some 
extent  caused  by  what  I  consider  as  one  of  the  rare  flaws 
in  Gobineau's  system  itself. 

The  hatred  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  doctrine 
of  the  Equality  of  man  had  thrown  Gobineau  into  such 
antagonism  against  everything  around  him  that  he  finally 
began   to   hate    France   down   to    her   very   historical   roots. 

*  Ernest  Seillifere :  Le  Comte  de  Gobineau  et  I'Aryanisme  Historique : 
Paris,  1903  (p.  370). 

xxxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

He  was  tempted  to  see  charlatanism,  theatricality  and 
exuberant  phrase-making  (which  are  the  characteristics  of  a 
democratic  age)  everywhere  even  in  that  grand  early  history 
of  the  Latin  races,  and  thus  became  very  unjust,  I  think, 
to  the  whole  of  Grseco-Latin  culture,  and  especially  to  the 
most  flourishing  ages  of  that  culture,  in  Greece  and  Rome. 
Henceforth  his  ideal  in  history  became  the  Germanic  tribes 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  their  feudal  institutions,  which  allowed 
a  man  to  attach  and  defend  his  honour  sword  in  hand — times, 
when  a  man  was  his  own  master  still  and  not  subjected  to 
the  law  of  Polis  or  Urbs.  In  Polls  and  Urbs  the  lawyers  and 
phrasemongers  would  always  prevail — among  the  warrior  tribes 
of  the  Franks,  the  Normans,  the  Lombards,  the  glib  tongue 
of  sly  plebeians  had  never  to  be  feared,  and  a  free  and  noble 
personality  never  stood  in  danger  of  being  suppressed. 
Gobineau  himself,  isolated  as  he  was  amongst  his  plebeian 
surroundings,  thought  himself  related  to  those  ancient  and 
noble  tribes ;  he  firmly  believed  in  his  descent  from  a  Scan- 
dinavian and  Germanic  stock.  He  even  wrote  a  book, 
"  Ottar  Jarl,"  in  which  the  history  of  his  ancestors  is  minutely 
described.  This  Ottar  Jarl  is  a  descendant  of  a  Norwegian 
family  of  the  ninth  century,  who,  being  a  younger  son,  is 
disinherited  from  rural  possessions  according  to  law  and  con- 
sequently obliged  to  emigrate  from  Scandinavia.  He  becomes 
a  pirate,  descends  upon  the  French  coast,  and  there  founds 
the  feudal  house  of  Gournay,  the  house  from  which  Gobineau 
himself  claimed  descent.  When  our  Count  was  French 
Minister  in  Stockholm,  he  one  day  made  an  excursion  with 
some  friends  to  those  beautiful  isles  which,  covered  with  pines, 
lie  dotted  in  crystal  waters  all  along  the  Swedish  coast. 
Before  a  group  of  imposing  ruins,  Gobineau  suddenly  stopped 
and  said :  "  I  feel  this  is  the  place  where  I  hail  from  " — a  story 
which  will  set  a  good  many  people  smiling.  But  it  is  a  fact — 
which  science,  that  satellite  of  poetical  observation,  may  one 
day  elucidate — that  very  sensitive  people  easily  recognise  the 
place  where  their  ancestors  have  lived  :  there  are  Jews  who  at 


C   2 


XXXV 


INTRODUCTION 

once  feel  at  home  in  the  South  and  among  Orientals,  and  the 
French  (  ount  ma)'  have  experienced  a  similar  sensation  when 
his  foot  had  touched  that  Scandinavian  spot. 

Thus  we  need  not  deny  that  Count  Gobineau  had  Norman 
blood  in  his  veins,  but  the  conclusion  he  draws  from  this  fact, 
the  veneration  he  feels  for  this  blood,  ought  to  be  somewhat 
critically  examined.     It  was  modesty  after  all  on  the  part  of 
Gobineau,  it  seems  to  me,   if  he   attributed   his  nobility  of 
thought  to  his  Norman  and  Germanic  ancestry.    For  Gobineau 
was,  above  all,  what  these  tribes  never  were,  a  man  of  daring 
thought.     And    the     objection    which     I     would     raise     to 
Gobineau's  idealisation  and  veneration  of  the  ancient  Germans 
is  just  this,  that  they  were  sadly  lacking  in  all  the  higher 
elements  of  culture,  sadly  lacking  in  what  Gobineau  possessed 
— in  ideas.     In  stating  this  I  do  not  underrate  the  value  of 
personal  bravery  and  prowess  as  exhibited  by  these  Franks, 
Lombards,   and   Normans,   because   these  are  virtues   v/hich 
our  industrial   age   sadly   lacks   and   urgently   requires :   but 
I  do  not  consider  these  virtues  alone  sufficient.     I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  they  only  constitute  a  kind  of  barbarian  great- 
ness which  can  never  be  compared  with  that  cultured  great- 
ness, that  combination  of  great  thought  and  great  action  which 
was  the  glory  of  Greece  and  Rome.     Military  prowess  was 
possessed  by  such  a  race  as  the  Huns,  too  ;  it  was  possessed, 
and  is  still  possessed  to  some  extent,  by  the  Turks — but  no 
one,  I  think,  would  set  up  Huns  and  Turks  as  model  races  for 
mankind.     Where,  I  should  like  to  ask  the  manes  of  Count 
Gobineau,  are  the  ideas  of  his  beloved  Germanic  tribes  ?   Have 
they  founded  a  religion  like  the  Jews  ?     Flave  they  excelled 
in  art,  like  the  Assyrians,  Babylonians,  and  Egyptians?     In 
philosophy  and  tragedy  like  the  Greeks,  in  government  and 
law   like   the    Romans  ?     Have   they  bequeathed   a  holy  or 
unholy  book  to  the  world — a  book  that  could  rival  the  Old 
Testament,  the  book  of  Manu,  the  tragedies  of  Sophocles,  the 
manly  history  of  Thucydides,  the  sweet  poetry  of  Ovid  and 
Horace?     No,  they  have  not.     They  have  had  no  ideas,  and, 

xxxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

though  puetically  endowed  hke  all  youlhful  and  martial 
peoples,  this  gift  was  never  strong  enough  to  withstand  the 
onslaught  of  Oriental  thought,  and  thus  their  song  of  the 
Nibelungs,  their  Beowulf,  and  even  their  Edda,  have  come  down 
to  us  in  a  half-Christianised  dress.  They  have  had  no  ideas  of 
their  own  to  oppose  to  the  Semitic  idea:  that  is  the  reason, 
the  only  reason,  why  they  were  conquered  and  converted  by 
the  mere  breath  of  a  Christian  missionary.  It  was  the  want 
of  the  inner  Holy  fire,  the  want  of  strong  and  burning  passion, 
it  was  in  short  the  poverty  of  the  race  which  will  put  Count 
Gobineau's  much-beloved  Germanic  tribes  for  ever  into  the 
second  rank,  when  compared  for  instance  with  that  similar 
conqueror-tribe — the  Arabs.  The  Arabs,  too,  were  a  martial 
people,  and  when  they  left  their  desert,  they  were  as  poor  in 
earthly  possessions  as  were  the  Franks  and  Normans ;  they 
had  no  art  as  yet  and  scarcely  any  written  literature  ;  but,  when 
they  had  conquered  the  world,  when  they  had  gained  their 
place  in  the  sun,  they  at  once  proved  that  the  germ  of  the  great 
and  the  sublime  was  at  least  in  them :  they  created  that  great 
Empire  from  the  Tigris  to  the  Guadalquivir  in  which  art, 
science,  and  literature  flourished,  which  kept  the  lamps  of 
Hellenic  thought  burning  in  the  midst  of  Christian  darkness 
and  which  the  Christianised  Germanic  tribes,  the  enemies  of 
light,  afterwards  successfully  extinguished.  Rightly,  therefore, 
and  to  this  very  day  those  historians,  who  though  Christians 
are  honest  historians,  regret  the  fall  of  Granada. 

Why  did  Count  Gobineau,  universal  historian  that  he  was, 
fail  to  allude  to  Arabic  civilisation,  fail  to  relate  the  story  of 
the  fall  of  Granada?  It  is  a  story  which  might  well  have 
appealed  to  him,  as  a  poet,  just  as  it  has  appealed  to  a  colleague 
of  his,  to  one  who  was  more  nearly  related  to  the  Arabs — 
Heinrich  Heine.  In  November,  1491,  Boabdil,  the  last  king  of 
the  Moors,  came  out  of  Granada  and  gave  the  keys  of  the  town 
to  the  victorious  Catholic  sovereigns,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 
Then,  with  a  few  followers,  he  left  for  the  south,  but  upon  a 
rocky  eminence  which  commanded  a  last  view  of  Granada  he 

xxxvii 


INTRODUCTION 

checked  his  horse  and,  as  his  eyes  for  tlie  last  time  wandered 
over  the  scenes  of  his  departed  greatness,  his  heart  swelled 
and  he  burst  into  tears.  "  You  do  well,"  said  his  mother,  when 
she  saw  him  cry,  "  to  weep  like  a  woman  for  what  you  could 
not  defend  like  a  man."  It  was  a  Semitic  mother  who  could 
speak  these  manly  words  to  her  son,  words,  no  doubt,  that 
caused  a  Semitic  mother  more  pangs  of  pain  than  any  other. 
Is  it  not  almost  certain  that  over  his  enthusiastic  praise  of  the 
noble  Germanic  blood,  Count  Gobineau  forgot  that  there 
was  in  the  world  a  noble  Semitic  blood,  a  blood  all  the 
more  important  as  it  still  exists  amongst  us  almost  in  its  racial 
purity  ? 

IV 

But  happy  that  author  whose  writings  have  a  decided  weak- 
ness somewhere  or  contain  a  palpable  untruth,  for  he  is  sure 
to  be  discovered !  Unhappy  that  Homer  who  never  nods, 
for  he  will  nod  for  ever,  and  no  discoverer  or  disciple  will 
awake  him,  and  no  posterity  will  rise  up  to  do  honour  to  his 
message.  And  thrice  happy  the  author  whose  weaknesses 
are  even  misunderstood :  sic  ilur  ad  astra,  only  thus  and  then 
is  he  sure  to  fmd  the  way  to  the  heart  of  humanity. 

Count  Gobineau,  as  we  have  seen,  had  sung  the  praise  of 
the  noble  Germanic  blood,  of  a  blood  which,  as  he  thought, 
ran  in  his  own  veins,  and  which  he  rightly  judged  to  be 
different  from  and  superior  to  that  of  other  mortals.  It  was 
certainly  a  fault  of  his  racial  system  that  he  forgot  even  to 
mention  the  noble  Arabic  blood,  but  this  omission,  after  all, 
only  slightly  interferes  with  the  value  of  his  book  as  an 
original  piece  of  work.  But  precisely  by  this  flaw,  by  the 
neglect  of  the  Semitic  blood,  by  this  praise  of  the  noble 
Germanic  blood,  has  he  endeared  himself  to  the  heart  of  the 
Germans,  who,  once  the  question  of  race  came  to  the  fore- 
ground in  European  thought,  were  most  eager  to  establish  their 
claim  to  a  noble  past  and  a  noble  blood.     For  the  Germans  are 

xxxviii 


IN'IRODUCTION 

people  who  live  on  thought  and  theories,  people  who  conse- 
quently have  to  adapt  themselves  to  any  new  theories  that 
spring  up  on  the  intellectual  horizon  of  our  Continent.     In  this 
respect,  they  are  very  unlike  the  "  materialistic  "  Englishmen, 
who  in  their  innermost  heart  have  a  contempt  for  "braini- 
ness,"  who  think  they  can  do  without  "ideas,"  who  know  for 
a  certainty  that  they  will  "muddle  through"  somehow,  for 
Providence,  that  just  Providence,  cannot — in  their  opinion — 
help  having  strong  British  propensities.     The  German  rather 
looks  down  upon  this  British  contempt  of  ideas,   this  blind 
trust  in  Providence  :  it  is  his  glory  to  have  acted  differently, 
to  have  always  helped   Providence  by  his  own  thoughts — 
although  I   have   my  doubts  whether  Providence  does   not 
prefer  the  British  modesty  and  non-interference  to  the  German 
cver-zeal  and  obtrusiveness.     Be  this  as  it  may,  one  thing  is 
quite  certain :  theories  that  arise  anywhere  in  Europe  are  sure, 
sooner  or  later,  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  Germans,  and 
living  by   theories   as   they   do,   he   has   sooner   or  later   to 
adapt  himself  to  the  new  and  victorious  thought.     Of  late 
this  new  thought  has  not  been  very  favourable  to  the  Germans ; 
it   has  become   more   and   more   difficult   to   adapt    the    old 
Teutonic  ideals  to  the  new  theories — and  Germany  has  con- 
sequently   become    somewhat    embarrassed.     Not    for    long, 
though — what  could  embarrass  that  gifted  nation  of  "poets 
and  thinkers  "  for  long  ?     The  idea  of  "  race,"  for  instance,  was 
certainly  a  very  perplexing  one  for  the  Germans,  who,  after 
all,  have  troubled  about  race  less  than  any  nation  in  Europe, 
who  have  never  had  an  aristocracy  worthy  of  the  name,  like 
the  French  and  English,  like  the  Poles  and  Italians:  but  why 
should  a  thinking  nation  be  embarrassed  by  a  new  idea,  if  this 
nation  is  at  the  same  time   also  a   poetical  one?     Let   the 
poetical  gift  of  this  nation,  let  its  powers  of  idealistic  inter- 
pretation play  round  the  "  New  Thought,"  and  the  thought  is 
rendered  harmless  and  ready  for  adaptation.     If  we  cannot 
adapt  ourselves  to  the  new  theories — thus  the  Germans  reason 
— let  us  adapt  the  theories  and  their  exponents  for  our  own 

xxxix 


IN  IRODUCilON 

bcnclit,  lol  us  rc-interpiel  Ihem,  let  us  poetise  them,  vaporise 
them,  until  .... 

It  is  by  means  of  this  power  of  poetical  interpretation,  that 
the   Germans  liave   succeeded    in   making  Gobineau  a  kind 
of    national    hero.      No    doubt    this    was    a    great    feat    of 
"poetic   licence,"   but   the   licence    was   justified   by   success. 
Gobincau's  name  is  uttered  with  the  greatest  respect  all  over 
the  Fatherland,  his  books  and  letters  have  neeirly  all  been 
translated :    they    have    gone    into    many    editions    and    are 
read   all   over   the   country,   and   Gobineau's   "  Renaissance " 
— five    times    translated    into    German — has    even    been    on 
the   repertoire    of   theatres.     Many   years   ago,    a   Gobineau 
Society  was  formed  in  Germany ;   the  ablest  men  of  letters, 
scientists  and  politicians  became  members ;  to  be  a  Gobinisle 
became  a  sort  of  patriotic  duty— not  to  be  a  Gobiniste  stamped 
one   as   an   "  enemy  of   the   Empire."      Gobineau   has   even 
been  set  up  by  these  enthusiastic  Teutonics  as  a  sort  of  anti- 
pope  against  Nietzsche,  and  it  has  thus  come  about  that  the 
Frenchman  is  venerated  in  modern  Germany  with  the  same 
fervour  as  Nietzsche  the  German,  is  worshipped  in  France. 
But  how  was  it  done  ?     What  has  Gobineau  to  do  with  modern 
Germany?     Hov/  could  the  Germans  appropriate  him?     The 
answer  is :   by  means  of   their  power   of   poetical   interpre- 
tation.    It  is  this  German  gift  which  has  allowed  the  German 
nation,  under  the  guidance  of  their  princes  and  professors,  to 
claim   Gobineau's  system  for  themselves  and  to  apply  it  to 
their  own  history,  past  and  present.     They  have  made  use  of 
Gobineau's  weakness,  his  exaggerated  praise  of  the  German 
conqueror  tribes,  but  they  have  misunderstood  or  "poetically 
interpreted"  even  this  weakness,  and  have  quite  innocently 
transferred  his  praise  of  the  Germanic  past  to  the  Germanic 
present,  his  praise  of  the  "Germanic  hero"  to  the  praise  of 
the  modem  German  citizen. 

To  Gobineau,  modern  Germany  was  as  contemptible  a 
country  as  modern  France  ;  for  it  was  based,  like  France,  upon 
a  plebeian  revolution,  the  Protestant  Reformation,  which  he 

xl 


INTRODUCTION 

most  heartily  detested.  And  it  was  not  only  the  Germany  of 
the  Reformation  that  Gobineau  disliked ;  it  was  modern  Ger- 
many as  well ;  it  was  the  Empire  itself,  that  glory  of  the 
Teutomaniac,  that  roused  his  doubts  and  his  displeasure.  Can 
this  cause  wonder?  How  could  a  profound  thinker  like 
Gobineau  overlook  the  flaw  in  this  Empire,  this  powerful 
organisation  without  aim,  ideas  or  reason,  this  body  without  a 
soul,  this  incarnation  of  materialism  on  earth?  How  could  a 
psychologist  be  deceived  by  that  mask  of  foggy  philosophy, 
romantic  art  and  crazy  idealism,  behind  which  the  modern 
German  tries  to  hide  his  ignoble  aspect  ?  How  could  he  be 
blinded  by  the  "  success  "  of  such  a  motley  crew,  gained  as  this 
success  was  and  is  by  the  trampling  down  of  every  genuine 
individuality,  of  every  valuable  idea,  of  everything  beautiful 
and  noble  ?  Thus  even  in  the  early  days  of  the  Empire,  we 
see  our  Count  in  doubt  about  this  modern  Germany.  "I 
understand,"  he  writes  to  his  friend.  Professor  Kellermann,  of 
Tubingen,  on  August  i8th,  1872,  "the  motives  which  have 
forced  Germany  into  an  excessive  concentration  of  all  her 
powers,  but  this  very  concentration  is  the  surest  way  to 
paralyse  all  intellectual  action,  and  thus  your  organisation  will 
cost  you  so  much,  not  only  financially,  but  also  physically  and 
morally,  that  I  do  not  think  anything  good  for  the  life  of  the 
whole  or  the  parts  can  ensue  from  it."  What  a  true  prophet 
spoke  here !  And  what  deaf  ears  he  found  and  still  finds ! 
Or,  should  I,  as  an  excuse,  say,  what  poetical  ears?  The 
warnings  of  this  prophet  are  ignored  by  his  audience,  his  con- 
clusions from  the  past  are  falsified  and  misunderstood,  and 
his  message  for  the  future — race — is  misapplied  by  these 
intoxicated  patriots  to  the  present  day,  to  themselves.  For 
the  modern  Germans  pretend  that  they  are  a  race,  that  they 
are  Gobineau's  ideal  Germanic  race,  and  that  their  success  in 
this  world  is  due  to  their  pure  and  noble  blood.  A  brewer, 
when  he  grows  wealthy  and  successful,  desires  a  title  and 
must  be  on  the  look-out  for  a  pedigree. 

To  the  honour  of  truth,  however,  it  ought  to  be  stated  that 

xli 


INTRODUCTION 

it  is  not  the  true  Gobineau  who  has  become  the  god  of  the 
"  cuhured "  modern  Germans.  After  all,  Gobineau  was  too 
much  of  an  honest  writer  for  this,  too  little  of  an  idealist,  too 
much  of  a  man  who  never  shirked  facts  and  had  uttered  terrible 
truths,  just  as  Stendhal,  Merimee,  Nietzsche,  and  other  brave 
Europeans  had  done.  In  order  lo  make  Gobineau  palatable 
to  the  ordinary  modern  German,  he  had  lirst  to  be  remodelled 
and  refashioned.  It  is  a  full-blown  Englishman  who  has  done 
Germany  this  service,  an  Englishman  who  has  become 
Germanised,  and  who — just  as  converted  Jews  become  more 
Christian  than  born  Christians — has  become  more  German, 
more  ideahstic,  more  of  a  poet  than  even  the  best  German 
metaphysician.  This  man  was  Wagner's  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Houston  Stewart  Chamberlain. 

Air.  Chamberlain's  book,  The  Foundations  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century*  is  a  double  pasan,  a  paean  to  modern  Germany 
and  to  Christianity  in  its  Protestant  form,  which  latter,  how- 
ever, if  I  understand  Mr.  Chamberlain  rightly,  is  still  open  to 
some  improvement  by  the  Teutonic  genius,  especially  gifted 
as  this  genius  is  in  the  high  realms  of  religion.  And  not  only 
in  religion,  but  in  other  spheres  as  well ;  for,  according  to 
Mr.  Chamberlain,  ever  since  the  sixth  century  all  men  who 
have  produced  anything  in  politics,  ideas,  or  art,  without 
exception,  belonged  to  the  Germanic  stock.  Thus  this  stock 
(in  which  Mr.  Chamberlain,  for  safety's  sake,  includes  the  Celts 
and  the  Slavs,  but  whose  most  gifted  branch  is  the  Teuton)  has 
created  all  the  great  and  good  things  in  this  world,  while  on 
the  other  hand  everything  bad  or  inferior  is  of  Latin  or 
Semitic  origin.  Great  Latins  and  great  Jews  who  appealed 
to  Mr.  Chamberlain's  taste  are  of  course  allocated  by  him  to 
the  Germanic  stock.  Thus  Christ,  as  is  proved  by  Mr. 
Chamberlain,  was  only  born  in  a  Jewish  milieu,  but  was  a  Jew 
neither  by  race  nor  spirit  (Vol.  I.,  p.  351).  Thus  the  great 
Renaissance   was   never   a   creation   of   the   fine   Latin   and 

*  The  Foundations  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  by  Houston  Stewart 
Chamberlain  ;  transl.  by  John  Lees  (London,  191 1).  The  page  quotations 
are  taken  from  this  edition. 

xlii 


INTRODUCTION 

Southern  spirit,  but  a  manifestation  of  the  Germanic  genius, 
which  was  racially  predominant  at  that  time  in  both  northern 
and  southern  Italy.  These  ignoble  Southerners,  these 
slavish  children  of  the  "chaos  of  the  peoples,"  with  their 
"  materialistic  "  Catholic  Church  governing  them,  would  never 
have  done  anything  without  these  pure-blooded  idealistic 
Teutons  who  alone  m  this  world  have  kept  up  the  ideas  of 
faith,  race,  nobility,  and  individuality.  And  as  in  the  past  so 
in  the  present :  all  true  culture  is  Teutonic.  For  the  Teuton  is 
the  artist  of  the  modern  world,  he  is  "  the  only  human  being  who 
can  be  compared  with  the  Hellene — in  him,  too,  the  striking 
and  specifically  distinctive  character  is  the  simultaneous  and 
equal  development  of  knowledge,  civilisation  and  culture." 
(Vol.  II.,  p.  255.)  As  Lord  Redesdale,  who  has  written  the 
preface  to  the  English  translation,  rightly  puts  it :  "  The 
leitmotiv  which  runs  through  the  whole  book  is  the  assertion 
of  the  superiority  of  the  Teutonic  family  to  all  the  other  races 
of  the  world." 

Though  Chamberlain's  conclusions  are  very  different  from 
Gobineau's,  it  will  on  closer  examination  be  seen  that  the 
root  of  Chamberlain's  system  is  to  be  found  in  Gobineau. 
Gobineau's  is  the  idea  of  race,  the  idea  of  the  pre-eminence 
of  the  Germanic  stock,  the  idea  of  the  rejuvenation  of  Rome 
by  the  invasion  of  the  Germanic  tribes,  the  idea  of  the  manly 
and  superior  qualities  of  these  tribes  as  opposed  to  Latin 
and  Semitic  inferiority :  as  also  is  Gobineau's  the  idea  of  the 
fraudulence  and  cowardice  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  the  little 
trust  to  be  put  in  their  historic  narratives  and  the  accounts 
of  their  victories.  I  feel  quite  certain  that  without  Gobineau's 
epos,  "  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Aryan,"  Chamberlain's 
"  Rise  and  Progress  of  the  Teuton "  would  never  have  been 
written.  In  place  of  Gobineau's  gloomy  and  final  vaticina- 
tions, of  course,  a  "  happy  ending "  had  to  be  substituted, 
that  "  happy  ending "  which  is  so  dear  to  our  theatrical 
managers ;  for  no  true  tragedy  could  be  endured  by  our 
exhausted    audiences,    even    were    they    composed    of    that 

xliii 


IxNTRODUCTION 

flower  ul  llic  iidtions,  the  Gciinaus.  It  would  have  been 
lolly  for  an\'  of  Ihciii  to  produce  a  true  Gobineau  before  thai 
decadent  public,  accustomed  as  it  is  to  romantic  optimism  or 
nerve-racking  brutalities.  The  adaptation  of  Gobineau  to  a 
more  modern  taste  was  therefore  essential,  and  in  justice  to 
the  adapter  and  populariser,  it  should  be  added  that  he  has 
done  his  work  well.  He  has  suppressed  the  best  thoughts  of 
Gobineau,  weakened  the  strong  ones,  accentuated  the  bad 
ones  ;  dimmed,  darkened  and  dulled  the  whole,  and  then  added 
some  ideas  of  his  own  which,  though  not  in  touch  vi^ith  truth, 
at  least  prove  that  our  fortunate  philosopher  is  in  thorough 
touch  with  something  else,  to  wit,  his  age.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  is  not  difficult  to  please  one's  age  if  one  belongs  so 
closely  to  it  as  Mr.  Chamberlain.  Quiconqiie  rcssemble  an 
pcuple,  rhneiit,  as  Goethe  used  to  say. 

In  conformity  with  the  spirit  of  the  age.  Chamberlain  is  a 
very  religious  and  moral  personality.  No  pagan,  no  Gobineau- 
gospel — and  that  in  spite  of  Goethe — could  have  any  general 
success  in  Germany,  where  the  upper  classes  hypocritically 
cling  to  the  Church  in  the  vain  hope  of  keeping  down,  by 
means  of  Christianity,  the  atheistic  and  revolutionary  middle 
and  lower  classes,  and  where  these  latter  sincerely  but  uncon- 
sciously adhere  to  the  essence  of  Christianity,  its  morality, 
which  is  that  of  submissive  or  revolutionary  slaves.  Even  the 
Catholics  of  Germany  have  something  crude,  bigoted  and 
low-churchy  about  them,  which  separate  them  entirely  from 
their  Catholic  brethren,  those  semi-pagans  of  France,  Italy, 
and  even  Ireland.  There  is  no  country  in  Europe  more  hope- 
lessly Nazarene  than  Germany  ;  and  Chamberlain,  by  baptising 
that  over-healthy  pagan  Gobineau  and  also  otherwise  watering 
down  some  of  his  ideas,  at  once  appealed  to  those  countless 
thousands  for  whom  water  is  everything,  and  truth,  other  than 
religious  or  moral,  too  intoxicating.  Mr.  Chamberlain,  how- 
ever, did  not  only  become  a  mere  Nazarene,  but  a  German 
Nazarene — that  is  to  say,  a  Jew-hater.  Gobineau,  too,  had 
hated  Semitism,  but  Gobineau's  hatred  of  Semitism  was  of  a 

xliv 


INTRODUCTION 

very  different  kind.  Gobineau's  was  an  honest  Antisemi- 
tism,  it  was,  like  Nietzsche's,  an  historical  Antisemitism  :  it  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  modern  Antisemitism,  that  move- 
ment born  from  fear,  envy,  and  impotence.  This  is  how  Count 
Gobineau  speaks  of  the  modern  Jews :  "  In  no  period  has 
daring  thought  in  the  realm  of  philosophy  been  wanting  in 
the  Jew.  Nothing  has  changed  with  him  in  this  respect,  and 
I  could  quote  several  learned  men  of  Bagdad  who,  by  the 
audacity  of  their  reasoning,  are  entirely  worthy  of  the  most 
heterodox  spirits  that  their  race  has  ever  produced.  The  Jewish 
mind  is,  of  its  very  nature,  enquiring,  and  it  is  eager  to  extract 
from  the  wealth  of  this  world  the  element  of  knowledge 
as  well  as  the  element  of  gold." — {Les  Religions  ei  Us 
Philosophies  dans  V Asie  Cenlrale,  p.  66.)  Gobineau's  Anti- 
semitism (this  must  be  upheld  even  in  the  teeth  of  German 
Jewry,  which  on  account  of  the  Teutonic  misrepresentation  of 
our  author  still  looks  askance  at  him)  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  modern  Antisemitism,  it  is  not  the  Antisemitism  of 
people  who  are  (as  Nietzsche  has  baptised  them)  "step- 
motherly treated  by  nature "  {schlecht  weggekommene) :  it  is 
an  upright,  a  genuine,  a  gentlemanly  Antisemitism,  it  is  the 
Antisemitism  of  the  aristocrat,  who  sees  his  very  blood 
threatened  by  revolutionary  religions.  Both  Niet/.sche's 
and  Gobineau's  Antisemitism,  therefore,  included  of  course 
Christianity.  Chamberlain,  however,  turns  this  Antisemitism 
of  an  honnete  homme  into  the  Antisemitism  of  the  people 
and  directs  it,  according  to  the  "needs  of  the  age,"  against 
the  modern  Jews  to  the  exclusion  of  Christians.  He  likewise 
turns  Gobineau's  anti-classical  and  anti-Roman  tendencies  into 
modern  channels,  that  is  to  say,  against  the  modern  Catholics, 
the  Jesuits,  and  that  Roman  Church  which  is  still  such  an 
eyesore  to  the  German  Protestant.  All  this,  of  course,  was 
done  in  good  faith,  without  the  wish  to  deceive  and  entirely 
without  bad  conscience  on  the  part  of  the  author. 

The    Foundations    had    a    wonderful    success.      All    the 
leaders  of  thought  from  the  German  Emperor  down  to  the 

xlv 


INTRODUCTION 

humblest  schoolmaster  were  overflowing  with  delight.  The 
German  Emperor  had  a  copy  of  the  book  sent  to  every 
school,  and  all  the  schoolmasters  oi  the  l-atherland  were  busy — 
witli  the  additional  help  of  the  cane — in  impressing  upon  the 
minds  and  bodies  of  the  German  youths  their  heroic  descent. 
What  they  had  long  suspected,  but  did  not  dare  to  think,  was 
now  proved  beyond  all  doubt ;  they  were  a  noble,  a  pure  race. 
Just  as  Moliere's  bourgeois  gcntilhomme  was  astonished  and 
delighted  when  he  was  told  by  someone,  that  he  wrote 
"  prose,"  the  bourgeois  allemand  was  perhaps  less  astonished 
but  even  more  charmed  that  he  was  himself  "poetry"  and 
"  culture,"  that  his  very  blood  was  heroic  and  holy,  that  he  was 
a  member  of  a  race,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  of  the  noblest 
race  on  earth.  And  out  of  this  race,  so  Chamberlain  had 
assured  him  in  his  book,  there  would  "blossom  out  a  future 
and  harmonious  culture  such  as  the  world  had  never  seen 
before,  a  culture  incomparably  more  beautiful  than  any  of 
which  history  has  to  tell,  a  culture  in  which  men  would 
really  be  better  and  happier  than  they  are  at  present ! " 
(See  Author's  Introduction,  p.  xcviii.)  God  was  in  His 
Heaven,  all  was  right  with  the  world,  the  triumph  of  the 
Teuton  assured  for  ever.  Standing  upright  in  his  triumphal 
car,  with  flashing  eyes  and  quivering  nostrils,  this  grandson  of 
Arminius,  captain  no  more  of  barbarian  hordes,  but  of  industry 
and  of  "culture"  was  driven  up  the  Capitoline  Hill  to  receive 
an  enormous,  well-deserved  laurel  wreath  for  his  square, 
capacious,  cultured  head.  Only  one  little  important  figure  was 
missing  in  this  noisy  procession.  In  order  to  check  the  i5/9/9t9 
of  the  victorious  conqueror,  in  order  to  restrain  that  pride  which 
invariably  comes  before  the  fall,  the  Romans  never  forgot  to 
employ  a  slave,  who  was  seen  standing  next  to  the  hero  upon 
the  quadriga  and  heard  to  whisper  into  his  ear  from'  time  to 
time  the  warning,  "  Remember  that  thou,  too,  art  mortal."  This 
slave  was  wanting ;  but  instead  of  the  slave  a  herd  of  slavish 
and  time-serving  authors  and  critics  assured  the  pure-blooded 
captain  on  the  triumphal  car  that  Chamberlain's  book  was  the 

xlvi 


INTRODUCTION 

last  word  on  the  subject,  and  that  in  this  gifted  Enghshman 
the  Teuton  Achilles  had  at  last  found  a  heaven-inspired 
Homer  who  could  do  justice  to  his  character  and  noble 
achievements  in  past,  present  and  future. 

Of  course,  there  was  likewise  a  great  deal  of  profound 
dissent,  there  was  also,  from  the  more  cautious  critics,  a 
demand  for  a  closer  study  of  the  question  and  the  acquisi- 
tion of  more  scientific  facts.  But  the  fitting  and  the  only 
answer  to  Chamberlain's  gospel  has  never  been  given,  nor,  so 
far  as  I  know,  even  been  suspected.  And  how  could  it  have 
been  suspected?  How  could  it  have  been  thought  that  this 
author,  this  member  of  a  pure  race,  this  man  "  glorying  in  the 
consciousness  of  his  pure  race  "  (Vol.  I.,  p.  269),  would  produce 
a  real  bastard  book,  a  book  in  which  two  wholly  incompatible 
ideas  had  been  "crossed,"  two  ideas  by  nature  mutually 
exclusive  of  one  another  had  been  "married"  and  mixed 
together — that  of  race  and  that  of  Christianity?  Has  there 
ever  been  an  unholier  alliance,  and  that  committed  by  an 
enemy  of  mesalliances,  of  cross-breedings,  of  purposeless  inter- 
marriages ? 

Race  is  a  matter  of  selection  and  exclusion,  something 
hostile  to,  or  at  least  regardless  of,  the  outer  world.  Chris- 
tianity is  the  religion  of  "love,"  that  is  to  say,  it  has  nothing 
exclusive,  but  something  obtrusive  about  it,  especially  if  it  is 
remembered  that  this  declaration  of  "love"  came  from  the 
lower  classes.  Thus  Christianity  from  its  beginning,  and 
through  all  the  ages  up  to  this  very  hour,  has  had  one  aim, 
and  that  is  to  be  a  universal  religion,  a  religion  to  be  offered 
to  all,  a  religion  which,  if  accepted  by  all,  would  make  out  of 
humanity  one  great  family  of  equal  brethren.  It  was  on 
account  of  this  very  idea  that  the  first  Christians  separated 
from  the  Jews  and  founded  that  all-embracing  religion  which 
to-day  is  called  Christianity — for  the  Jews  themselves,  or 
rather  the  Jewish  Christians  (as  may  be  read  in  the  Acts  and 
the  Pauline  epistles)  still  held  fast  to  the  behef  that  their 
creed  was  not  for  everybody,  that  the  Messiah  had  been  sent 

xlvii 


INTRODUCTION 

to  I  hem  alone,  and  that  not  every  stranger  and  outsider  had 
a  right  to  participate  in  the  Salvation.      1  he  idea  of  race,  of 
exclusiveness,  of  "  the  chosen  people  "  still  haunted  these  Jews 
even  after  they  had  become  Christians,  and  over  the  question 
of  race  (not  over  the  question  whether  the  Messiah  had  come, 
but  to  ivhom  He  had  come)  Jews  and  Christians  soon  separated. 
Thus  a  modern  Jew  may  pride  himself  on  race,  a  modern  noble- 
man, like  Gobineau  or  Nietzsche,  may  pride  himself  on  race  ; 
but  never  a  true  and  modern  Christian,  least  of  all  a  German 
Christian.      For  the   German   Protestant   Christian   is   again 
a  rechauffe  of  the  first  Christian,  he  is  (as  Mr.  Chamberlain 
himself  sees)  a  Pauline  Christian,  that  is  to  say,  a  rebel,  a 
heretic,   a   democrat :    just   as   the   first    Christians    rebelled 
against  the   Jews,  he — by   means  of  his   Reformation — has 
rebelled  against  the  aristocracy  of  the   Italian  Renaissance, 
he  owes  his  "  Empire,"  his  present  position  in  Europe,  to  his 
rebellion.     It   is    likewise   he   who — indirectly    by   the   same 
reformation — instigated  the  French  Revolution  ;   it  is  he  who 
has  brought  all  the  democratic  values  to  the  front  in  modern 
Europe  ;    it  is  he  who  even  to-day,  with  his  four  millions  of 
Socialists,  marches  in  front  of  all  the  European  democracies. 
Only  a  few  months  ago  (May  8th,  1912)  the  German  Reichstag 
by  a  great  majority  asked  the  Government  to  bring  in  a  Bill 
legalising  in   their  colonies   marriages   between  whites   and 
blacks.     That  was  indeed  German,  democratic,  and  Christian  ; 
but  such  people  should  never  talk  about  race,  for  race  was, 
is,    and    should    be,    the    Germans'    greatest   abhorrence,    an 
abhorrence  which,  if  genuine,  everyone  can  understand,  and 
even  tolerate  to  a  certain  extent.     What  cannot  and  must  not 
be    tolerated    is    the    confusion   of    these    two    contradictory 
values — Race  and  Christianity. 

It  will  be  seen  that  my  description  of  the  German  as  a 
"  hopeless  Nazarene  "  needs  some  correction,  the  "  hopeless- 
ness "  in  him  being  really  more  accentuated  than  the 
Christianity.  In  plain  English :  the  German  is  modern — 
neither  fish  nor  flesh,  neither  oil  nor  water,  neither  a  Christian 

xlviii 


INTRODUCTION 

nor  an  aristocrat.  A  real  aristocrat  must  abhor  the  idea  of 
Christianity,  just  as  a  good  Christian  ought  to  abhor  the  idea 
of  race.  But  the  bad  Christians  and  the  bad  aristocrats  have 
a  less  decided  taste — they  behave  Hke  that  capricious  prima 
donna,  who  woke  up  one  morning  with  the  idea,  "  Tea  is  good, 
chocolate  is  good,  why  not  have  both  together  ? "  and  then 
ordered  her  maid  to  bring  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  chocolate 
mixed.  Mr.  Chamberlain,  with  unconscious  humour,  fre- 
quently points  in  his  great  book  to  the  dualistic  nature 
of  the  German  character — it  is  no  doubt  due  to  this  dualistic 
nature  of  his  that  dualistic  books,  tea-and-chocolate  books, 
like  Mr.  Chamberlain's,  appeal  to  him  so  very  strongly.  Sixty- 
thousand  copies  of  this  "philosophic"  production  have  now 
been  sold  in  Germany.     Similia  sinii'Libus. 

On  the  whole,  however,  Mr.  Chamberlain  himself — my  sense 
of  justice  prompts  me  to  state  this — ought  to  be  exempted 
from  the  blame  attached  to  his  German  admirers  and  should 
not  be  accused  of  any  want  of  consistency  in  his  taste.  Mr. 
Chamberlain  has  even  a  very  pronounced  judgment  and  has 
always  protested  against  that  astounding  tendency  of  his  readers 
to  swallow  everything,  to  muddle  everything,  and  to  digest 
for  instance  even  such  antagonistic  natures,  as  Gobineau  and 
himself.  On  several  occasions,  and  with  great  eloquence,  Mr. 
Chamberlain  has  stated*  that  he  has  nothing  to  do  with 
Gobineau  and  that  his  name  should  never  be  mentioned  in 
the  same  breath  even  with  that  of  the  French  Count,  who  was 
a  man  of  quite  different  stamp.  It  would  be  rash  to 
conclude  from  this  protest  that  he  has  the  intention  of 
deceiving  his  public,  that  he  wishes  to  pose  as  an  original 
genius,  that  he  wishes  to  impress  upon  mankind  the  fact  that 
he  is  not  an  epigone  and  populariser,  but  a  creative  spirit. 
This  would  be  a  great  injustice  to  Mr.  Chamberlain,  who,  it 
must  be  repeated,  is,  if  nothing  better,  at  least  an  honest 
man.  The  only  conclusion  to  which  his  extraordinary  and 
angry    protest    can    lead    us,    is    again    a    very    honourable, 

•See  amongst    others    his    Wehr  nnd   Gegeuwehr    (Mvinchen,   1912), 
pp.  12-15. 

D  xlix 


liNTRODUCTlON 

though  a  negative  one,  namely,  that  Mr.  Chaniberlani  does 
not  belong  to  the  numerous  and  disagreeable  class  of 
snobs.  For  a  snob  is  a  man  who  tries  to  get  into  touch 
with  people  above  his  station,  and  who,  having  gained 
access  to  the  charmed  circle,  boasts  of  his  distinguished 
acquaintances  :  there  have  even  been  snobs,  who  have  accused 
themselves  of  having  stolen  silver  spoons  from  a  lord's  tabic, 
only  in  order  to  let  other  people  know  they  "  have  been  there." 
But  Mr.  Chamberlain  is  quite  a  different  man — he  too,  has 
been  at  a  lord's  table,  but  he  never  boasts  about  it,  for  he 
does  not  know  that  "he  was  there."  And  there  was  plenty 
of  beautiful  plate  upon  the  table,  but  Mr.  Chamberlain 
again  did  not  know  that  it  was  silver.  And  the  lord,  who 
had  lived  in  Oriental  countries  and  had  imbibed  Eastern 
munificence  with  the  air,  had  asked  Mr.  Chamberlain  to  help 
himself  freely  to  everything  on  the  table  with  the  inclusion  even 
of  some  of  the  valuable  plate.  Mr.  Chamberlain  consequently 
pocketed  many  silver  spoons,  but  he  considered  them'  just 
ordinary  spoons  and  did  not  attribute  to  them  any  special 
value.  And  then,  when  he  came  home,  he  procured  plenty 
of  shiny  brass  spoons  (which  look  like  gold),  and  partly  with 
the  lord's  fine  old  silver  and  partly  with  his  own  shiny  brass 
he  feeds  his  numerous  "Aryan"  public,  which  is  not  very 
expert  in  matters  artistic  and  much  prefers  Mr.  Chamberlain's 
brass  spoons  to  the  count's  old  silver.  It  were  only  to  be 
wished  that  Gobineau  could  return  from  Walhalla  and 
assist  once,  as  the  guest  of  the  evening,  at  such  a  grand 
"Aryan"  dinner.  No  doubt  he  would  experience  a  kind  of 
satisfaction  for  having  been  a  true  though  pessimistic 
prophet  of  the  future  of  the  Aryan.  But,  good  heavens,  how 
sorry  he  would  have  been  for  having  wasted  his  silver  spoons ! 

V 

In  Oriental  towns,  towards  evening,  when  the  talk  a"nd  the 
bustle  of  the  market  is  at  its  loudest,  a  voice  from  above  is 

1 


INTRODUCTION 

suddenly  heard,  ringing  out  into  the  crystal  air  over  house- 
tops and  bazaars,  over  gardens  and  fountains,  over  rivers  and 
coffee-houses,  a  voice  that  drowns  with  its  clear  and  metallic 
force  the  noisy  talk  of  the  vulgar  crowd  in  the  market  place 
below.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  Muezzin  who  from  the  top  of  the 
minaret  calls  the  faithful  to  prayer.  Let  us  listen  to  him. 
Let  us  forget  the  literary  market  place  below  with  its  Jewish 
and  Christian,  French  and  German  dealers  in  modern  ideas, 
.let  us  no  longer  heed  that  loud,  crowded,  and  alas !  so  empty 
shopland,  where  the  honest  merchants  are  not  intelligent, 
where  the  intelligent  merchants  are  not  honest,  and  where 
the  crowds  of  sellers  and  buyers  are  neither  one  nor  the  other. 
Let  us  listen  to  the  voice  from  above,  let  us  listen  to  the 
Muezzin,  let  us  listen  to  Gobineau's  own  words  and  ideas. 

In  light,  sweet,  and  joyful  tones  this  voice  rings  out  of  the 
pages  of  Gobineau's  Les  Religions  ei  les  Philosophies  dans 
I'Asie  Centrale.  The  first  chapter  of  this  book  on  the  moral 
and  religious  character  of  the  Asiatics,  has  justly  become 
famous,  and,  with  its  lucid  power  of  argument,  will  come  as  a 
surprise  to  many  intelligent  Europeans,  accustomed  as  they 
are  to  look  down  upon  all  Asiatics  as  inferior  beings. 
Gobineau  is  able  to  undermine  many  of  their  prejudices,  for 
some  of  the  so-called  Asiatic  vices  are  only  vices  in  the  eyes 
of  the  simple-minded  European,  and  really  turn  out  to  be 
virtues,  if  only  seen  in  the  proper  light.  Thus,  that  dreaded 
Asiatic  hypocrisy  (a  practice  so  common  in  Central  Asia  that 
it  has  received  the  special  name  of  Kctnian)  is,  according 
to  our  exploring  ambassador,  only  a  mask  put  on  by  the  more 
profound  Oriental  mind  in  order  to  keep  truth  away  from 
inferior  or  vulgar  souls.  Gobineau  compares  this  behaviour 
of  the  modern  Asiatic  with  that  of  the  Greek  philosophers, 
who  likewise  taught  that  all  truth  of  a  superior  kind  should 
be  enveloped  in  mystery,  for  il  was  not  reasonable  to  throw 
higher  wisdom  before  inferior  and  unworthy  beings.  But 
while  thus  paying  a  high  compliment  to  the  intelligence  and 
profundity  of  the  Asiatic,  Gobineau  does  not  forget  that  draw- 

D   2  li 


INTRODUCTION 

back  which  every  high  development  of  the  poetical  and 
ps}-choIogical  faculties  must  bring  in  its  train.  It  is  this  super- 
abundance of  thought  which  makes  the  Asiatic  as  much  of  a 
fantastic  dreamer  as  a  superabundance  of  common  sense 
makes  his  European  brother  a  dry  matter-of-fact  creature. 
And  it  is  this  crowd  of  ideas  and  theories,  which  constantly 
chase  and  supplant  each  other  in  the  mind  of  the  Asiatic,  that 
are  the  cause  and  source  of  his  political  weakness.  This  over- 
intelligence,  as  it  might  be  called,  isolates  our  Asiatic  from 
his  fellows  to  such  an  extent  that  collective  action  (based 
as  it  always  must  be  upon  uniformity  of  sentiment  in  a  large 
number  of  people)  becomes  almost  an  impossibility  among  the 
gifted  Asiatic  races.  As  a  consolation  it  might  be  conceded 
to  the  Asiatic  that  fools  find  it  much  easier  to  combine,  first 
because  they  are  obliged  to  do  so  on  account  of  their  weak- 
ness, and  then  because  no  individuality  of  their  own  makes 
them  shrink  from'  too  close  a  contact  with  their  brethren.  In 
Asia,  Count  Gobineau  tells  us,  with  an  ironical  side-glance  at 
Europe,  fools  are  the  greatest  exception. 

But  the  best  part  of  the  book,  and  the  greater  part  of  it,  is 
dedicated  to  the  history  of  the  Babists,  a  Persian  sect  founded 
shortly  before  Gobineau  came  to  Persia,  by  a  young  and 
spirited  Persian  who  was  called  "  The  Bab."  It  is  a  strange 
tale  that  our  author  has  here  to  tell,  a  story  which  seems  to 
us  more  than  familiar,  reminding  us  as  it  does  of  the  common 
religious  bonds  of  Asia  and  Europe,  of  the  holy  tales  of  our 
own  gospel.  Was  it  the  intention  of  Count  Gobineau — and 
this  is  a  question  that  v^ll  easily  occur  to  a  critic  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  look  for  the  meaning  between  the  lines — to  write  a 
parody  on  the  ancient  document  of  the  Christian  faith  ?  I  do 
not  think  so  for  a  moment,  for  Gobineau  had,  like  many 
Catholics,  even  free-thinking  Catholics,  a  sort  of  shyness  about 
touching  upon  religion  in  too  outspoken  a  manner.  If  there 
is  parody,  it  is  entirely  unconscious,  but  parody  undoubtedly 
there  is.  There  is  the  Saviour,  the  "Bab,"  that  is  to  say, 
"the  only  door  by  which  one  can  reach  the  knowledge  of 

Hi 


INTRODUCTION 

God,"  a  quiet,  studious,  patient,  and  somewhat  mystical  youth, 
une  dnie  douce  et  un  -peu  reveuse,  as  Gobineau  describes 
hhn.  He  has  quite  a  number  of  interesting,  though  hardly 
novel,  ideas  in  his  head  :  how  to  bring  man  happiness  in  this 
world,  how  to  unite  under  one  ethical  roof  the  Jew,  the 
Christian,  and  the  Moslem,  how  to  emancipate  and  enlighten 
the  fair  sex,  likewise  how  to  be  good  and  charitable  though 
rich,  and  how  to  be  just  and  forgiving  though  dealing  with 
criminals  and  enemies.  There  was  a  faint  flavour  of 
Buddhistic  sweetness,  I  think,  in  this  attractive  personality, 
who  by  his  charming  and  persuasive  manner  easily  converted 
all  those  who  came  into  contact  with  him.  But  these  new  con- 
verts, less  Buddhistic,  of  course,  and  more  impulsive  than  the 
Master,  tried  to  strengthen  peaceful  persuasion  by  other  means. 
They  openly  accused  the  authorities  of  immorality  and  cor- 
ruption, they  ran  about  the  streets  looting,  rioting  and 
threatening  and  insulting  the  mullahs  (clergy),  and  thus 
finally  forced  the  Government  to  intervene  between  them  and 
their  accusers — an  intervention  that  caused  a  bloody  revolu- 
tion in  two  provinces  and  was  only  suppressed  with  the 
greatest  difficulty.  The  Saviour,  as  seems  to  be  the  habit  of 
Saviours,  had  promised  to  bring  peace  and  happiness,  but  had 
in  reality  brought  the  sword — a  sword,  which,  once  unsheathed, 
naturally  begins  now  to  threaten  himself  and  his  two  most 
faithful  followers.  And  thus  more  and  more  the  story  begins 
to  remind  us  of  Asia,  never-changing  Asia.  Those  in 
authority,  again  wrongly  assuming  that  the  execution  of  the 
Saviour  would  suppress  a  rebellion — have  decided  to  do  away 
with  him.  A  sham  action  is  brought  against  him,  he  is 
searchingly  questioned  by  the  judges,  who  are  bent  upon  his 
ruin,  he  is  asked  for  miracles  by  the  Mullahs,  who  doubt  his 
^ft  and  his  inspiration,  but  he,  according  to  his  followers, 
confounds  them  all.  Well,  however,  though  he  stands  the  test, 
he  is  nevertheless  condemned  to  death  by  his  persecutors, 
frightened  as  these  are  about  the  progress  of  the  rebellion. 
The  day  of  execution  has  come.    From  early  morning  till  late 


1 


111 


INTRODITCTION 

ill  ihc  evening  tlie  Bab  and  his  two  disciples  arc  conducted, 
under  the  weight  of  their  chains,  through  the  town  of  Tabriz, 
llie  infuriated  mob  screaming  and  shaking  their  hsts  at  them, 
striking  the  defenceless  victims  in  the  face  amid  screams 
of  laughter  at  every  successful  blow.  Then  one  of  the 
disciples,  as  the  result  of  all  the  pain  and  shame  heaped  upon 
him,  gives  way,  and  throwing  himself  on  to  the  ground,  begins 
to  weep  most  bitterly.  The  captain  of  the  guard  promises 
him  freedom  if  he  will  curse  the  Bab.  And  he  curses  the 
Bab.  Then  the  captain  of  the  guard  asks  him  to  spit  into 
the  Bab's  face.  And  he  spits  into  his  face,  and  is  then  set 
free  ;  but  only  in  order  to  repent  and  commit  afterwards,  like 
Judas,  a  sort  of  expiatory  suicide. 

Then  the  other  follower,  a  rich  citizen  of  the  town  of  Tabriz, 
is  worked  upon  to  give  up  the  Bab  ;  with  truly  fiendish  clever- 
ness his  young  wife  and  his  children  are  fetched  from  the 
bazaar,  they  are  confronted  with  him  and  they  implore  him 
to  abjure  his  creed,  to  live  again  happily  with  them  as  before  ; 
but  the  man  simply  turns  his  head  and  remains  firm,  only 
asking  as  a  favour  to  be  executed  before  his  Saviour.  The 
sun  begins  to  set ;  the  two  are  about  to  suffer  the  extreme 
penalty,  and  when  in  front  of  a  large  crowd  they  both  hang 
side  by  side  over  the  wall  of  the  citadel,  waiting  to  be  shot,  the 
faithful  disciple  is  heard  saying  to  the  Bab :  "  Master,  art  thou 
satisfied  with  me  ? "  .  .  .  O  Asia,  there  thou  art  once  more 
with  thy  fanatics,  thy  dreamers,  thy  rebels,  with  thy  martyrs, 
who  willingly  shed  their  blood  for  "truth,"  and  thy  Saviours 
who  triumphantly  wear  the  crown  of  thorns !  There  thou  art 
once  more,  thou  continent  of  eternal  recurrences,  putting  to 
shame  thy  little  sister  Europe  with  her  innocent  belief  in 
progress ! 

But  still  there  is  "progress,"  and  the  progress  lies  with  the 
narrator  who  this  time  tells  the  holy  story.  It  is  related  in  a 
cold  and  sceptical  manner,  very  accurately  to  be  sure,  but 
not  without  touches  of  irony  and  Voltairian  wit.  by  a  man 
who  decidedly  has  some  doubts  about  all  Saviours  and  all 

liv 


INTRODUCTION 

enthusiasts,  by  a  man  who  knows  from  his  own  experience  that 
it  IS  more  difficult  to  hve  for  truth  than  to  die  for  it,  by  a 
man  who  has  a  silent  smile  even  for  self-sacrifice ;  for  he 
knows  that  self-sacrifice  comes  most  easily  to  those  whose  self 
does  not  matter  much,  to  those  who  sacrifice  little  with  their 
"  selves."  A  grand  seigneur  is  relating  this  extraordinary 
story,  a  man  who  is  freethinking  without  being  unprincipled, 
gay  without  being  foolish,  warm-hearted  without  being  gush- 
ing, and  cool  without  being  phlegmatic  or  platitudinarian.  It 
is  an  important  contribution  to  literature :  the  first  narrative 
of  a  holy  movement,  by  an  unholy  and  sober  pen.  It  is  a 
decided  improvement  upon  a  very  holy  book :  it  is  a  gospel 
written  by  a  gentleman. 

But  let  no  one  believe  that  this  refined  gentleman  always 
preserves  his  refinement  of  manner.  True,  the  tenor  of  the 
Count's  literary  work  cannot  be  compared  to  that  of  the  more 
passionate  Nietzsche,  whose  mighty  curses  on  civilisation  run 
into  eighteen  volumes  and  whose  only  prototypes  in  litera- 
ture— prototypes  standing,  though,  for  the  opposite  ideal — are 
the  ancient  Jewish  prophets.  But  let  no  one  be  mistaken  by 
this  outward  appearance  of  more  grace,  repose,  and  restraint : 
at  bottom,  it  must  be  repeated  again  and  again,  Gobineau  and 
Nietzsche  are  men  of  the  same  stamp,  and  the  French  Count 
can  raise  his  voice  to  the  same  dangerous  pitch  as  the  German, 
or  rather  anti-German  philosopher.  And  on  these  rare  occa- 
sions, we  entirely  miss  that  "Greek  Harmony,"  that  "golden 
mean,"  which  is  so  dear  to  the  Philistine  worshippers  of  classical 
antiquity,  we  look  absolutely  in  vain  for  that  "sweetness  and 
light,"  which  a  gifted,  thotigh  Victorian,  author  once  so 
urgently  recommended  to  his  public ;  true,  there  is  light, 
but  only  for  those  who  can  see  ;  true,  there  is  sweetness, 
but  only  for  people  with  healthy  and  not  over-fastidious 
tongues.  Listen  only  how  our  Count  describes  his  own  time, 
hear  what  he  thinks  of  his  contemporaries,  see  in  what  colours 
this  master-author  paints  the  picture  of  what  he  considers  the 
universal  slavery : 

Iv 


INTRODUCTION 

Have  a  look  at  the  world  around  you.  Do  you  recognise  its  supreme 
barbarism — not  a  youthful,  bold,  courageous,  picturesque,  happy 
barbarism,  but  a  savagery  that  is  ugly,  treacherous,  repellent,  ill- 
humoured,  that  will  kill  all  and  create  nothing  ?  At  any  rate,  admire  its 
size,  which  is  indeed  enormous  ;  admire  the  beautiful  arrangement  of  its 
tripartite  division  ;  at  its  head,  the  motley  tribe  of  the  babblers  !  They 
lead  everywhere,  carry  the  keys,  coin  phrases,  weep  on  finding  themselves 
deceived,  declare  that  they  would  ne\er  have  imagined.  .  .  .  Here  now 
are  the  fools  !  They  are  everywhere,  in  front,  at  the  side,  in  the  rear  ; 
they  run  about,  bustle  and  grow  excited,  their  sole  business  being  to 
prevent  anything  from  becoming  ordered  or  decided  before  they  are  in  a 
settled  state  themselves.  But  what  is  the  use  of  their  becoming  settled  ? 
Hardly  has  one  of  their  companies  declared  itself  satisfied  than  other 
hungr)-  swarms  come  up  at  a  run  to  start  the  whole  process  afresh. 

And  finally,  here  are  the  beasts.  The  babblers  have  let  them  loose. 
....  You  ask  me  what  I  make  of  this  pandemonium.  I  interpret  it  for 
what  it  is — stupefaction,   destruction   and   death 

Would  you  wish  to  spare  this  rabble,  if  you  held  in  your  hands  a  sure 
means  of  destroying  it  ?  That  is  your  business  !  As  for  me,  lend  me  for 
a  moment  the  thunderbolts  of  Jupiter  and  you  shall  see !    But  I  shall  only 

destroy'  so  much  as  is  necessary  of  the  irresponsible  herd  of  beasts 

It  is  not  fit  to  discern  anything  ;  I  do  not  attribute  to  it  a  soul,  and  it  is 
not  the  herd's  fault  if  it  cannot  be  controlled.  Nor  do  I  wish  to  go  in 
for  any  violent  measures  against  the  fools  !  I  do  not  declare  to  you  that 
they  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,  but  they  assuredly  are  the  pickle.  We  can, 
if  need  be,  put  up  with  them,  and  if  we  hang  a  few  of  them  occasionally, 
the  rest  can  be  employed,  if  not  in  honourable,  at  any  rate  in  useful 
occupations.  Besides,  it  must  be  admitted,  our  planet  produces  them 
naturally  without  waiting  much  to  be  asked  !  The  world,  whatever  we 
may  say  or  do,  could  not  succeed  in  getting  rid  of  them,  nor  perhaps  even 
in  dispensing  with  them. 

As  to  the  babblers,  I  should  be  merciless.  They  are  the  vainglorious 
and  criminal  authors,  the  sole  and  detestable  initiators  of  universal 
degeneration,  and  the  rain  of  my  fiery  bolts  would  ruthlessly  pour  down 
upon  their  perverse  heads.  No,  such  a  crew  does  not  deserve  to  live  : 
nay,  this  croaking  vermin  cannot  live  and  let  the  world  live  in  orderly 
fasliion  by  its  side.  The  great  flourishing  epochs  of  Humanity  were  those 
when  such  reptiles  did  not  crawl  upon  the  steps  of  power.  Away  with 
them  ! 

Would  anyone  believe  that  a  passage  of  such  honest  indigna- 
tion— against  the  people,  if  you  please,  not  against  the  "  ruling 
classes" — was  penned  in  the  middle  of  that  mob-petting 
nineteenth  century?  In  the  midst  of  the  century  of  revolu- 
tionary slaves  ?  In  the  midst  of  the  era  of  romanticism,  senti- 
mentality, brutality,  eccentricity,  and  idealism  ?  Still  it  was 
written,  written,  of  course,  without  reaching  the  long  ears  of 
that  democratic  age,    but  written  nevertheless   for  a  juster 

Ivi 


INTRODUCTION 

posterity — and  the  passage  is  found  in  what  should  be  con- 
sidered as  one  of  the  finest  books  of  Gobineau,  a  novel  pub- 
lished by  him  in  1874  in  Stockholm,  called  the  Pleiades. 

While  the  Essay,  and  that  in  spite  of  its  good  points,  will 
always  have  to  be  considered  as  a  youthful  production,  the 
man  Gobineau  comes  out  best  and  fully  developed  in  the  book 
of  his  advanced  years,  the  Pleiades.  There  is  no  more  dis- 
cussion here  as  in  the  Essay  about  colour  and  nobility,  Gobineau 
has  modified  to  a  certain  extent  that  scientific  idea  of  his  younger 
days  about  a  fine  Aryan  race  that  had  fallen  readymade  from 
heaven,  and  was  only  spoiled  by  the  blood  of  inferior  stocks. 
The  artist  has  here  got  the  better  of  the  philosopher  and  his 
system,  and,  although  the  system'  was  upheld  by  Gobineau  till 
the  end,  it  does  not  interfere  in  the  least  with  this  novel. 
And  for  this  reason  some  of  the  Count's  dark  pessimism  has 
become  latent,  there  is  hope  in  the  book,  for  Gobineau  has  dis- 
covered a  clearing  in  the  dismal  forest  of  democracy,  he  has 
noticed  that  there  is  some  nobility  left  on  earth  in  spite  of  all 
popular  laws,  all  fine  literature,  and  all  "  spread  of  education." 
True,  these  higher  qualities  are  only  possessed  by  a  very  few 
individuals,  who  have  managed  to  keep  themselves,  though 
with  great  difficulty,  afloat  after  the  universal  shipwreck  of 
aristocratic  civilisation.  But  what  does  it  matter  ?  They  are 
still  there  ;  Gobineau  has  detected  them,  he  rejoices  over  the 
brilliant  discovery,  and  what  is  more,  he  gives  us  in  this  novel 
the  bright  portraits  of  these  men,  standing  out  from  the  dark 
background  of  universal  slavery  around  them.  There  are  men 
and  women  to  be  met  here,  who,  like  certain  stars  in  the 
nocturnal  sky,  brilliantly  outshine  the  millions  of  minor  luminous 
bodies  around  them,  men  and  women  of  light  and  brightness, 
who  greet  each  other  with  flashing  eyes  over  the  heads  of  their 
poorer  surroundings,  men  and  women,  who  belong  to  the 
greater  stars  on  the  human  firmament,  who  belong — hence  the 
title  of  the  book — to  the  Pleiades. 

In  the  first  pages  of  the  novel  we  are  introduced  to  some  of 
the  Pleiades,  three  travellers,  a  Frenchman,  a  German,  and  an 

Ivii 


INTRODUCTION 

Englishman,  who  begin  their  tale  with  the  announcement : 
"  We  are  three  calenders,  sons  of  kings."  Gobineau,  the 
admirer  of  the  Orient,  is  imitating  here  the  tales  of  "  Thousand 
and  One  Nights,"  in  whicli  the  Arabian  storyteller  regularly 
begins  with,  "  1  am  the  son  of  a  king."  These  magical  words 
— thus  Gobineau  explains — indicate  that  "  the  hero  is  endowed 
with  special  gifts,  with  rare  qualities,  which  make  him 
entirely  different  from  the  ordinary  crowd  of  people  around 
him."  "  I  am  the  son  of  a  king,"  however,  Gobineau  takes  care 
to  add,  does  not  mean  that  he  is  really  the  son  of  a  king,  and 
that  his  father  was  not  a  merchant,  artist,  soldier,  ironmonger, 
or  stationmaster  ;  it  only  signifies  one  thing :  "  I  am' — no  matter 
where  I  come  from — of  a  generous  and  courageous  tempera- 
ment, and  I  am  a  stranger  to  most  of  those  influences  which 
generally  move  and  interest  other  human  beings  around  me. 
My  taste  is  not  that  of  everybody — I  have  my  own  feelings 
on  all  subjects ;  I  do  not  love  or  hate  according  to  the  leaders 
and  criticism  of  the  papers.  The  independence  of  my  ideas, 
the  absolute  liberty  of  my  opinions,  are  the  certain  indications 
and  privileges  of  my  noble  origin.  .  .  ."  And  where  do 
these  extraordinary  qualities  come  from  ?  Through  the  mouth 
of  one  of  the  other  travellers  Gobineau  gives  the  answer. 
"  They  arise  from  a  sort  of  mysterious  and  native  combination : 
it  is  a  union  in  one  individuality,  of  those  noble,  or,  if  you  will, 
divine  qualities,  which  his  ancestors  long  ago  possessed  to  the 
fullest  degree,  qualities  which  the  unwholesome  and  undigni- 
fied alliances  with  inferior  beings  may  have  suppressed,  or 
may  have  only  disguised  for  some  time,  but  which  nevertheless 
did  not  die  entirely,  but  suddenly  developed  and  blossomed  out 
again  in  these  after-born,  the  sons  of  the  kings."  The  French 
traveller  adds  to  this :  "  Thus  there  exist  in  the  world  of  to-day 
a  number  of  men,  women  and  children,  and  that  in  all  nations 
alike,  whose  personality  is  composed  of  the  most  precious 
atoms  of  their  most  precious  ancestors,  and  who  form  an 
aristocracy  of  perhaps  no  more  than  3,500  people  in  the  whole 
world." 

Iviii 


INTRODUCTION 

But  how  shall  they  make  themselves  heard?  How  is  this 
aristocracy,  submerged  and  nearly  drowned  as  it  is,  to  rise 
again  to  the  top?  How  can  they  survive  in  an  age  like  the 
present  ?  Are  not  those  few  aristocrats,  discovered  by 
Gobineau  in  all  classes  of  the  population,  much  too  isolated  to 
be  able  to  withstand  the  torrent  of  vulgarity  around  them? 
And  how  can  they  know  one  another,  how  can  they  hold  out 
a  helping  hand  to  one  another  ?  Is  not  the  aristocratic  nature 
by  itself  adverse  to  that  "combination"  and  "union"  which 
has  rightly  become  the  panacea  of  all  the  weak,  of  all  the 
democrats  ?  Does  it  not  rather  prefer  to  stand  alone  ?  Does 
it  not  even  rejoice  in  standing  alone?  Is  there  not  a  certaui 
mixture  of  shyness  and  pride  in  the  aristocrat,  which  forbids 
him  to  address  others,  to  ask  others  for  help,  to  complain  to 
others,  or  even  to  open  his  heart  to  others  ?  And  is  the 
aristocrat's  shyness  not  justified,  has  he  not  been  taught  by 
hundreds  of  shameful  experiences  how  he  will  be  misunder- 
stood, or  what  is  worse,  what  fine  specimens  of  humanity  will 
understand  him  or  pretend  to  understand  him  ?  Can  he  forget 
that  it  was  the  "  Swine "  that  rushed  first  into  Nietzsche's 
garden?  Is  he  not  in  his  innermost  heart  sure  of  the  sad 
fate  that  he  lives  in  a  desert,  of  the  sad  fate  that  he  has  to 
live  in  a  desert,  and  that  his  only  companions  there,  if  not 
swine,  will  be  asses  and  camels  ? 

Gobineau  has  an  answer  to  all  these  questions,  he  knows  a 
way  out  of  our  difficulties,  he  proves  that — though  not  shirking 
any  of  the  terrible  facts  of  our  wild  present-day  life — he  is 
able  to  master  this  life,  he  is  able  to  be  a  true  guide  through 
the  wilderness  of  this  life.  It  is  through  the  mouth  of  the 
German  Prince  John  Theodor  that  he  gives  a  lesson  to  those 
isolated  beings,  whose  strength  among  the  uncounted  numbers 
of  weak  people  is  in  danger  of  becoming  broken,  or  "  adapted 
to  the  environment " — a  lesson,  though,  which  is  not  a  social, 
a  Christian,  or  an  altruistic  one.  For  the  German  Prince  has 
the  audacity  to  recommend  to  those  aristocrats :  "  Look  after 
yourself,  see  that  you  do  not  lose  yourself,  don't  trouble  about 

lix 


INTRODUCTION 

anytliing  but  the  welfare  of  your  own  souls."  But,  perhaps, 
this  after  all  is  a  Christian  lesson,  for  is  it  not  likewise  one  of 
the  imperative  demands  of  the  Christian  religion  to  look  after 
one's  soul  ?     And  it  is  this  that  the  Prince  recommends : 

I  consider  the  honest  man,  the  man  who  feels  in  himself  a  soul,  has  more 
than  ever  the  imperious  duty  of  recoiling  back  upon  liimself.  This  is 
pccuharly  the  work  of  times  such  as  ours.  All  that  society  loses  does  not 
disappear,  but  takes  refuge  in  indi\idual  lives.  The  whole  is  small, 
wretched,  shameful,  repulsive.  The  isolated  being  soars  up  and  expands, 
and,  as  in  Egyptian  ruins,  in  the  midst  of  a  heap  of  rubbish,  misshapen 
and  unrecognisable  debris,  crumbled  and  shattered  buildings,  often  difficult 
to  restore,  there  survive  and  rise  up  towards  heaven  some  giants,  some 
obehsks,  whose  height  maintains  the  noblest  idea,  perhaps  an  idea  superior 
to  what  was  formerly  the  temple  or  the  town  now  razed  for  ever  ;  so 
nowadays  men  who  are  isolated,  but  at  the  bottom  more  noteworthy,  more 
deserving  of  our  admiration  than  were  their  precursors,  help  to  keep  up 
the  notion  of  what  the  noblest  and  loftiest  of  God's  creatures  should  be 

To  work  at  ourselves,  to  raise  what  is  good  in  us,  to  subdue  what 

is  evil,  to  stifle  or  at  least  to  shelve  our  worst  instincts — this  is  henceforth 
our  duty,  the  only  duty  that  is  of  any  avail ! 

There  is  a  Christian  rmg  about  this  passage,  is  there  not? 
Yet  it  cannot  be  Christian,  and  it  is  not  Christian,  for  the 
very  reason  that  Gobmeau  practised  what  he  preached,  which 
the  Christian,  at  least  if  there  is  a  shade  of  healthy  instinct 
left  in  him,  never  does.  And  Gobineau  practised  what  he 
preached,  though  he,  as  an  aristocratic  writer,  as  a  leader  of 
humanity,  had  no  need  to  do  so,  though  he  had  full  liberty 
to  claim  exceptional  rights  on  account  of  his  exceptional 
duties. 

It  is  the  duty  only  of  the  Christian — as  a  democrat — to  live 
up  to  his  principles.  This  duty,  however,  the  Christian  care- 
fully avoids,  and  all  the  more  carefully,  the  more  of  a  Christian 
he  is.  A  Bismarck,  who  "edits"  a  foreign  telegram,  causes 
a  bloody  war  through  it,  and  with  all  this  humbly  goes  to 
Communion  ;  a  Tolstoi,  who  preaches  the  abolition  of  private 
property,  but  hands  his  own  over  to  his  wife — who  recom- 
mends strict  chastity  in  his  Kreuzer sonata,  but  begets  a 
child  himself  a  year  after  its  publication— that  is  Christian, 
those  (and  many  other  discordant  celebrities  with  them), 
were  the  true  Christians,  the  great  Christians  of  the  nine- 

Ix 


INTRODUCTION 

teenth  century.  But  the  non-Nazarene  noblemen  of  that 
time,  such  as  Gobineau  and  Nietzsche,  though  at  full 
liberty  to  live  a  hypocritical  life,  never  did  live  it,  nor  were 
they  obliged  to  live  it,  nor  could  they  have  lived  it,  for  the 
purity  of  their  character  and  intelligence  would  not  have 
allowed  to  them  what  it  apparently  allows  to  all  pious  folk. 
Not  to  them  was  it  granted  to  go  through  life  making  conces- 
sions right  and  left,  not  theirs  the  strength  to  live  a  life  of  con- 
tradiction and  despair,  not  theirs  the  weakness  never  to 
approach,  never  to  criticise  Christian  values  ;  but  not  theirs 
either  that  religion  of  the  Redeemer  who  apparently  redeemeth 
His  faithful  servants  of  any  serious  thoughts  on  an  unprincipled 
existence,  not  theirs  the  religion  of  the  Comforter,  who  com- 
forteth  them  through  all  the  discomforts  of  a  bad  conscience, 
so  that  they  live  honoured  and  idolised  by  all  human  kind  to 
an  old  age ! 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Gobineau's  life  in  the  midst  of  these 
comfortable  great  and  small  Christians  was  not  a  very  enviable 
one.  Nietzsche,  as  is  well-known,  went  mad  over  the  solitude 
of  such  an  honest  life  in  the  midst  of  vile  and  stupid  sur- 
roundings, and  of  Count  Gobineau  we  know — if  we  could  not 
read  it  between  the  lines  of  his  writings — that  he  was 
only  too  frequently  near  the  abyss  of  despair.  "  The  principal 
thought  of  great  minds  is  not  to  break,"  our  author  used  to 
remark  frequently,  an  opinion  doubly  significant,  in  the  mouth 
of  such  a  joyful,  witty,  spirited  companion,  such  as  according 
to  the  testimony  of  all  contemporaries,  German  and  French 
alike.  Count  Gobineau  usually  was.  In  Stockholm,  especially, 
he  seems  to  have  suffered.  He  went  there  alone,  his  wife 
stayed  away  from  the  northern  climate  for  reasons  of  health, 
and  during  his  whole  Sojourn  he  apparently  experienced  only 
little  desire  to  mix  with  the  world  at  large.  His  lodgings 
were  in  a  very  quiet,  and  not  even  fashionable  street,  his  whole 
mode  of  life  was  so  simple  that  his  colleagues  of  other  nations 
frequently  scoffed  at  it  ;  the  bell  outside  his  chambers  is 
said  to  have  consisted  of  a  hare's  foot,  and  when  this  was  rung, 

Ixi 


INTRODUCTION 

the  Count's  only  companion  and  servant,  a  Syrian  Christian, 
appeared  and  asked  tlic  visitor  into  a  drawing-room,  whose 
furniture  was  as  old-fashioned  and  "out  of  season"  as  the 
ideas  of  its  proprietor,  lionore  Michon — this  was  the  name 
of  the  servant — became  Count  Gobineau's  dragoman,  when 
ho  went  to  Persia ;  he  hated  Europe  as  heartily  as  did  his 
master,  but  he  loved  his  master  more  than  he  hated  Europe, 
and  was  so  devoted  to  him  that  he  would  never  leave  him 
afterwards ;  he  would  have  gone  to  the  North  Pole — so  the 
talk  in  diplomatic  circles  ran — if  France  had  stood  in  need 
of  a  representative  there  and  had  singled  out  Gobineau  as 
her  Ambassador.  Gobineau  was  likewise  heartily  attached  to 
him  and  left  the  whole  management  of  his  modest  establish- 
ment to  the  tender  care  of  the  Syrian,  whose  principal  task 
was  to  look  after  two  green  parrots.  But  while  ordinary 
minds  are  broken  or  "  converted "  by  such  uncongenial 
surroundings  as  two  parrots  and  an  exotic  servant  undoubtedly 
are,  the  sterner  characters,  as  Gobineau  rightly  suggests  in 
the  Pleiades,  are  elevated  and  spurred  on  by  adverse  circum- 
stances, and  thus  we  owe  to  the  solitude  of  Count  Gobineau 
not  only  his  best  novel,  but  also  that  other  book  of  his  upon 
which  his  fame  principally  rests,  the  book  translated  here — 
The  Renaissance. 

It  was  only  natural  that  the  artistic  imagination  of  a 
Gobineau  willingly  turned  back  to  that  golden  time  of  the 
post-Christian  era,  to  that  only  time  of  the  Christian  era 
which  was  no  longer  Christian,  to  that  time  when  Christianity 
lay  vanquished  and  broken  in  the  very  heart  of  Christianity, 
in  Rome  itself ;  to  the  time  of  the  Renaissance.  In  his  pre- 
dilection for  the  Italian  Revival,  Gobineau  only  proved  once 
Tnore  his  intimate  and  genuine  relationship  to  that  best  school 
of  European  thought,  to  those  few  eminent  poets  and  critics, 
who  had  all  hated  the  Semitic  infection  around  them,  who 
had  all  abhorred  the  Christian  revolutionary  spirit,  who  had 
all  turned  their  backs  upon  the  slaves  and  their  clamorous 
desires  for  liberty  and  equality.    In  the  age  of  the  Renaissance 

Ixii 


INTRODUCTION 

it  had  been — so  they  all  saw  witli  deep  envy — their  turn ;  it 
was  the  age  of  liberty  for  them,  for  the  best,  the  intelligent, 
the  daring,  the  brave,  the  proud,  the  beautiful — the  age  for  an 
enlightened  aristocracy  of  birth  and  spirit.  There  was  liberty 
then,  because  there  was  no  equality,  for  where  there  is  liberty 
there  can  be  no  equality,  and  where  there  is  equality  there  can 
be  no  liberty.  Liberty  is  the  requirement  of  the  few,  equality 
the  wish  of  the  many — and  Gobineau's  age,  having  declared 
for  the  many,  had  driven  its  most  valuable,  its  only  useful 
members  into  despair,  madness,  suicide,  or  at  least  into 
isolation.  No  wonder,  those  few  isolated  beings — a  Goethe,  a 
Stendhal,  a  Nietzsche,  a  Gobineau,  and  even  a  Heine — turned 
their  saddened  eyes  back  to  the  opposite  age,  to  the  age  of 
freedom  for  them,  the  generous,  loving,  free-spirited  and 
brave ;  to  the  age,  when  Kings,  Popes  and  Statesmen  were 
not  yet  servants  of  the  mob  and  of  the  State,  but  masters  of 
the  State,  of  their  own  individualities,  of  their  own  wishes,  and 
above  all  had  wishes  and  desires,  that  corresponded  to 
those  of  the  great  artists  and  writers  of  their  time.  Noble 
Renaissance,  to  what  depth  of  despair  and  darkness  has  the 
world  "  progressed  "  since  then  ! 

It  was  left  to  this  late-born  son  of  the  Renaissance,  this 
pagan  by  heart  and  intelligence,  this  super-Christian  gcntil- 
homnie — it  was  left  to  Gobineau  to  give  us  in  the  following 
pages  a  true  historical  and  poetical  picture  of  the  Renaissance, 
such  as  none  of  his  or  our  own  contemporaries  have  been  able 
to  present  to  the  world.  Himself  a  scholar,  a  poet,  a  sculptor, 
and  likewise  an  ambassador,  he  was  so  nearly  related  to  that 
glorious  Italian  age  and  its  versatile  genius,  to  a  Michael  Angelo 
and  a  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  that  an  insight  into  the  period  and 
into  the  character  of  its  leading  spirits  came  to  him  naturally 
and  instinctively.  And  thus  here,  over  the  head  of  four 
centuries,  one  lonely  but  kindred  spirit  speaks  to  his  equals, 
to  his  true  and  only,  but  alas,  departed  brethren.  He  under- 
stands them,  with  their  fears  and  their  hopes,  their  loves  and 
their  hatreds,  their  virtues  and  their  vices — he  rightly  diagnoses 

Ixiii 


INTRUDUCilON 

what  ruined  them,  he  rightly  divines  what  had  elevated 
them.  Justice  itself  speaks  out  of  the  pages  of  the  book, 
and  that  highest  kind  of  justice,  an  innocent,  childlike, 
a  poet's  justice,  a  justice  that  is  high  above  moral 
prejudices.  The  clear  and  benevolent  sun  of  Gobineau's 
tliought  shines  upon  weak  and  strong,  upon  Christians  and 
Nobles,  upon  Protestants  and  Catholics,  upon  populace  and 
artists,  upon  saints  and  criminals  alike,  and  wherever  its  rays 
fall,  they  warm,  they  adorn,  and  they  enlighten.  A  man  like 
Luther,  with  whom  Gobineau  could  hardly  have  had  any 
s)inpathy,  is  brought  nearer  to  our  understanding,  nay,  to 
our  heart ;  he  too,  that  great  destructive  spirit,  that  great 
unconscious  evildoer,  could  not  have  acted  otherwise.  A  man 
like  Savonarola,  that  monster  of  morality,  that  Puritan  of  the 
renascence,  that  "Bab"  translated  into  European  and 
Nazarene,  is  appreciated  by  our  poet,  a  little  too  much,  one 
would  even  think,  especially  when  this  moralist  is  said  to  have 
influenced  the  great  Michael  Angelo,  whose  morality  was 
certainly  of  a  different  and  higher  order.  And  not  only  the 
moral  and  revolutionary  heroes,  the  rebels  and  the  Protestants, 
open  their  hearts  to  the  magical  key  of  the  Count's  genius, 
but  likewise  their  enemies,  the  Catholics,  the  faithful  sons  of 
the  ancient  Church,  the  opponents  and  repressors  of  the 
Reformation.  There  is  Charles  V.  and  his  son,  Philip  II., 
stern  and  unbending  both,  typical  respresentatives  of  law  and 
order,  men,  who,  though  rightly  considering  the  "  Calvinistic 
and  Lutheran  abomination  as  a  cancer  in  the  flank  of  the 
Church,"  proceed  to  cure  that  cancer  with  fire  and  iron ; 
favouring  the  Jesuitical  order,  re-establishing  the  mediaeval 
inquisition,  re-introducing  the  Christian  faith  upon  the  Papal 
chair,  and  thus  committing  more  murders  and  atrocities  than 
that  "  monster  "  Caesar  Borgia  himself. 

And  murders  and  atrocities,  which  Gobineau  in  his  inner- 
most heart  utterly  condemns,  for,  as  he  is  careful  to  inform  us, 
these  crimes  of  the  Reformation  and  the  counter-Reformation 
were,  compared  with  those  of  Caesar  Borgia,  absolutely  sense- 

Ixiv 


INTRODUCTION 

less,  because  they  were  religious  crimes.  There  is  not  the 
slightest  doubt  that  Count  Gobineau's  sympathies,  in  spite  of  his 
great  tolerance  and  his  poetical  benevolence  towards  even  the 
religious  people  of  the  period,  are  entirely  on  the  side  of  the 
pagans,  of  the  Popes  and  their  artists,  on  the  side  of  a 
Julius  II.  and  Caesar  Borgia,  of  a  Machiavelli,  and  Michael 
Angelo.  Nor  is  the  reason  for  this  far  to  seek :  his  book  is 
written  in  favour  of  the  Master-Morality,  and  Gobineau's  secret 
endeavour  is  to  throw  suspicion  upon  the  prevailing  and  all- 
powerful  Morality  of  his  good  and  brave,  though  neurotic, 
feminine,  and  prosaic  contemporaries.  In  a  manner  that  will 
frighten  many  readers  even  to-day,  Gobineau's  deep,  manly 
persuasion  of  "one  right  and  duty  for  me,  one  right  and  duty 
for  you"  rings  out  of  an  audacious  scene,  that  scene,  where 
Pope  Alexander  VI.  defends  his  son  Caesar  Borgia  before  his 
sister  Lucrezia,  whose  husband,  Don  Alphonso  d'Aragon, 
Caesar  Borgia  has  just  strangled  : — 

He  is  not  a  monster,  my  daughter,  but  a  ruler  who  could  not  enter  his 
destined  sphere  but  at  the  price  of  the  most  sustained  and  sometimes  the 
most  pitiless  effort.  Listen  to  me,  Lucrezia,  and  don't  raise  your  hands 
to  hea\-en.  ...       I  am  trjdng  to  awaken  in  you  what  I  know  to  be  true, 

clear-cut   and   powerful   sentiments My   daughter,    you   are   as 

beautiful  as  Pride,  j'ou  are  Strength  itself  !  Hence  I  will  speak  to  you. 
.  .  .  Know  then  that  for  that  kind  of  persons  whom  fate  summons  to 
dominate  others,  the  ordinary  rules  of  life  are  reversed  and  duty  becomes 
quite  different.  Good  and  evil  are  hfted  to  another,  to  a  higher  region, 
to  a  different  plane.  The  virtues  that  may  be  applauded  in  an  ordinary 
woman  would  in  you  become  vices,  merely  because  they  would  only  be 
sources  of  error  and  ruin.  Now  the  great  law  of  this  world  is,  not  to  do 
this  or  that,  to  avoid  one  thing  and  run  after  another  :  it  is  to  live,  to  en- 
large and  develop  one's  most  active  and  lofty  qualities,  in  such  a  way 
that  from  any  sphere  we  can  always  hew  ourselves  out  a  way  to  one  that 
is  wider,  nobler,  more  elevated.  Never  forget  that.  Walk  straight  on. 
Do  only  what  pleases  you,  but  only  do  it,  if  it  likewise  serves  you.  Leave 
to  the  small  minds,  the  rabble  of  underlings,  all  slackness  and  scruple. 
There  is  only  one  consideration  worthy  of  you — the  elevation  of  the  house 
of  Borgia  and  yourself. 

But  Caesar  Borgia  failed :  the  story  of  his  ghastly  death 

is  vividly  told  in  one  of  the  scenes  of  the  "  Renaissance."  And, 

with    Caesar    Borgia,    failed    the   whole   of   the    Renascence : 

through   the  quarrel   between   that  far  nobile  fratruin,  the 

E  Ixv 


INTRODUCTION 

Church  and  the  Reformation  (of  which  the  less  noble  was  the 
Reformation),  art,  life,  health,  beauty,  everything  good  and 
noble    and    great    was    again    banished    from    the    world    for 
centuries.     "Thou  hast  conquered  again,  O  Galilasan!"     But 
hast  Thou  really  conquered  ?     Hast  Thou  really  succeeded  in 
eradicating  out  of  all  human  breasts  the  yearning  after  some- 
thing higher,  nobler,   and  stronger,  hast  thou  really  extin- 
guished in  all  human  hearts  the  desire  for  joy,  for  light,  for 
wisdom,  and  for  beauty  ?     Is  the  Renascence  quite  as  dead  as 
Thou  wishest  and  as  Thou  thinkest,  Thou  humble  and  pale 
Galitean,   Thou   enemy   of   rosy   cheeks   and   proud   necks? 
No,    no,    it    is    not    dead,    and    it    was    never    as    dead    as 
Thou    hadst    hoped    and    desired,    and    how    little    dead    it 
was,    is    proved    by    the    following    beautiful    pages    of    the 
French  nobleman,  who  rightly  lets  his  Michael  Angelo  predict 
an  eternal  life  for  that  grand  age,  in  spite  of  Thy  triumph  and 
Thy  premature  exaltation.     "  We  are  bequeathing,"  thus  run  the 
last  words  of  the  aged  Michael  Angelo,  "We  are  bequeathing 
a  great  legacy,  great  examples.  .  .  .  The  earth  is  richer  than 
it   was  before  our  coming.     What  is  to  disappear  will  not 
disappear   altogether.  .  .  .  The  fields   can    rest   and   remain 
fallow  for  awhile :   the  seed  is  in  the  clods.     The  fog  may 
spread  and  the  grey  and  watery  sky  become  covered  with  mist 
and  rain,  but  the  sun  is  above.  .  .  .  Who  knows  what  will 
come  again?" 

I  know  it — and  know  it  for  a  certainty — a  new  Renascence. 
The  dawn  of  this  age  is  upon  us :  soon  the  sun  of  reason 
will  rise  again  and  his  first  rays  will  dissipate  the  fog  of 
superstition  and  the  nightmare  of  democracy.  May  the 
first  translation  of  this  truly  great  book  help  to  prepare  the 
Anglo-Saxon  world  for  this  coming  new  age !  May  it  find 
readers  worthy  of  its  great  ideals!  May  it  give  light  and 
strength  to  those  upon  whose  shoulders  the  heavy  task  of 
leadership  may  be  destined  to  fall! 

OSCAR  LEVY. 
London,  1913. 

Ixvi 


FIRST   PART 


SAVONAROLA 


E   3 


BOLOGNA. 

1492. 

The  garden  of  the  monastery  of  the  Fathers  of  St.  Dominic.  Midnight. 
The  sky  is  clear,  cloudless  and  deep  ;  the  stars  sparkle  ;  the  moonlight 
penetrates  even  under  the  archways  of  the  square  cloisters,  surround- 
ing the  space  planted  with  great  trees  and  fragrant  plants.  On  the 
moonht  walls  are  fresco  paintings  ;  red  robes  and  blue  cloaks,  pallid 
faces,  clasped  hands  ;  aureoled  heads  of  saints,  men-saints  and  women- 
saints,  all  radiant  with  happiness.  In  the  midst  of  the  courtyard, 
on  a  flight  of  five  or  six  stone  steps,  a  marble  crucifix,  fashioned  in 
thirteenth-century  style,  portraying  on  the  arms  of  the  crucifix  the 
witnesses  of  the  crucifixion.  Around  this  cross,  a  broad  avenue  where 
the  Prior  of  the  monastery  is  walking  ;  on  his  right,  Fra  Girolamo 
Savonarola  ;  at  the  latter 's  side,  Fra  Silvestre  Marufh. 

FRA  GIROLAMO :  Yes !  The  time  has  come.  The  hour 
strikes !  Now  or  never  is  the  moment  to  raise  on  high  the 
Word  of  God  and  spread  it  throughout  the  world.  Darkness 
retreats.  Light  is  re-born,  and  casts  upon  ancient  error  the 
full  force  of  its  damning  ray.  How  many  demons  are  at  work 
about  our  misfortunes !  How  they  stir  the  fire !  How  they 
fan  the  flame  that  seeks  escape !  We  must  repel  them !  We 
must  make  the  present  age  less  shameful  than  its  precursor ! 
We  must  shake  men  up  from  the  somnolence  of  their  fore- 
fathers, but  not  to  put  in  its  place  the  awakening  of  evil !  We 
must  illumine  the  nations — guide  them — lead  them- — drive 
them  !  "  Ah,  brother,"  you  will  say,  "  how  would  an  abortion 
such  as  you  be  capable  of  a  task  like  that  ? "  You  have  read 
of  David,  and  know  the  deeds  of  that  wretched  shepherd  ? 
THE  PRIOR:  No  doubt!  But  what  voice  from  on  high 
summons  you  to  so  lofty  an  undertaking  ? 
FRA  GIROLAMO  :  God  is  speaking  to  me,  God  impels  me! 
The  conviction  that  throttles  me,  the  transports  that  I  feel 
cannot  deceive  me ! 

FRA  SILVESTRE:  It  is  true!  He  is  right!  His  learning, 
his  eloquence,  his  virtue,  are  not  these  all  signs?  Where  do 
you  hope  to  find  signs  more  striking?  Is  he  not  boimd  to 
make  use  of  his  gifts  ? 

THE  PRIOR:  I  deny  nothing.  But  why  such  vehemence? 
Can  we  not  go  forward  with  measured  step  ?     What  is  it,  after 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

all,  that  you  claim,  Era  Girolamo?     If  I  take  your  meaning 
aright,  it  is  nothing  less  than  to  reform  the  Church  and  to  lead 
back  high  and  low  alike  to  the  keeping  of  the  Gospel's  laws. 
Do  )-ou  look  on  that  task  as  easy  ?     Do  you  forgot  that  the 
doctors  and  the  councils  have  but  lately  foundered  on  this 
very  rock,  not  to  mention  the   fact  that  we  live  under  the 
crozier  of  Alexander  VI.  ?     What  a  moment  you  are  about  to 
choose,  great  God !  for  speaking  to  the  world  of  self-restraint ! 
ERA    GIROLAMO:     God    knows    not    "a    moment"— all 
moments  are  His !     I  tell  you  once  more  :  the  hour  has  struck, 
it  is  time  to  act !     All  is  changing  in  our  present  epoch,  already 
so  different  from  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  ;  all  is  in  froth 
and  ferment ;  from  a  fresh  centre,  with  a  fresh  horizon,  will  the 
universe  henceforth  unfold  to  us  its  sights.     It  will  make  for 
good  if  religion  raises  the  cross  ;  it  will  make  for  evil  if  the 
ever-active  efforts  of  the  wicked  uproot  and  overthrow  this 
tree  of  shelter.     See  you  not  what  is  coming  to  pass  ?  Counter- 
feit sages  are  rising  up  and  tearing  from  the  walls  the  musty 
and  worn-out  tapestry  that  delighted  former  ages.     Italy  is 
full  to  bursting  of  unbridled  adventurers,  of  upstart  princes, 
of  hireling  soldiers,  of  tyrants  of  cities,  despots  of  castles,  rebel 
peasants,  quarrelsome  burgesses,  and  all  inheritances  great  and 
small  are  the  prey  of  this  rabble,  joined  by  the  wolves  that 
come  to  us  in  packs  from  Spain  and  Erance.     And  for  all  that, 
in  the  midst  of  these  disasters,  see  what  is  happening!     The 
nations  are  awakening ;   they  rub  their  eyes  ;  for  their  morn- 
ing meal  these  famished  creatures  demand  liberty  and  peace ; 
liberty,  I  tell  you,  and  above  all  the  peace  and  the  justice 
whereof  their  fathers  never  knew  or  tasted  the  savour.     And 
I,  I  call  to  them  :  "Ask,  above  all,  for  faith !  "     Without  faith, 
the  rest  is  tasteless  and  turns  to  poison.     But  faith,  where  is  it  ? 
Where  shall  we  find  its  source  again  ?     The  clergy  reck  naught 
of  it.  .  .  .  The  cardinals  rend  it.  .  .  .  The  Pope.  .  .  ah,  the 
Pope !  .  .  .  I  will  not  tell  you  what  he  is,  you  know  too  well ! 
If  we  do  not  take  care,  there  will  issue  from  our  unhappy 
Church  overgrown  with  brambles,  from  our  rotting  doctrines. 


SAVONAROLA 

from  our  decaying  disciplines,  the  hideous  heads  of  heresies, 
hissing  from  the  tips  of  their  forked  tongues  the  excuses,  the 
pretexts  furnished  them  by  these  abominable  doctrines,  and 
turning  them  to  venom.     Do  you  mark  them,  these  monsters 
seeking  their  quarry  throughout  the  kingdoms  of  Christendom  ? 
And  they  have  only  too  powerful  an  aid  in  those  other  vipers, 
the  scholars,  drunk  witli  the  pride  of  having  learnt  to  read  in 
the  new-found  books  of  Greece  and  Rome.     Do  you  not  hear 
what  counsellors  they  offer  us,  to  take  the  place  of  the  great 
doctors  of  theology  ?     Plato,  Seneca,  the  wretched  Martial, 
the  obscene  Ovid,  the  impure  Anacreon,  a  Lucan,  a  Petronius, 
a  Statius,  a  Bion,  an  Apuleius,  a  Catullus.     Every  day  you 
may  see  old  greybeards,  mad  as   the  foolishest   of  youths, 
uttering  these  cries  witli  a  shameful  enthusiasm  and  putting 
forward  a  page  of  Cicero  as  preferable  to  the  holiest  verses  of 
our  Gospels !     Are  these  dangerous  attacks  enough,  threats 
enough   for  the   balance   of   men's   consciences  ?     No !     The 
brush  comes  to  join  the  pen,  and  with  the  brush  the  chisel 
and  the  engraver's  tool,  to  reveal  the  new  world  to  the  eyes 
of  a  crowd  amazed  with  infamous  novelties.     Yes,  I  say,  all 
the  senses  of  mind  and  heart  are  set  in  motion,  stirred  up, 
tickled  by  Satan  ;  and  if  we  must  defend  ourselves,  it  is  high 
time  to  think  of  defence.     Have  you  never  heard  tell  of  what 
they   call    "  love   of   art " — v/hich   is    really   nothing   but   the 
shameful  appetite  for  vice  ?     This  abomination  has  crept  into 
our  Churches,  which  have  thus  become,  what  .■' — synagogues  of 
the  Devil !     A  Magdalen,  a  Sebastian,  are  only  pretexts  for 
unveiling  the  human  form  as  shamelessly  as  Apollo  and  Venus. 
And  I,  I,  who  see  and  touch  and  feel  and  understand   the 
horror  of  these  degradations,  I  whose  soul   rises  to  furious 
disgust,  yes,  to  the  holy  rage  of  indignation  for  the  Cross,  do 
you  expect  me  to  let  these  foulnesses  heap  their  filth  upon 
hapless  humanity,  without  setting  my  life  as  a  barrier  against 
such  an  invasion?     No!  a  thousand  times  no!     I  shall  not 
remain  inactive  before  such  a  levy  of  the  forces  of  the  arch- 
fiend !     I  shall  defend  the  world !     I  shall  defend  the  age  in 

5 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

which  1  hvc!  1  sluiU  forge  the  wcapuns  of  the  future  and 
try  to  put  them  in  its  hand !  The  century  that  is  opening 
will  march  on,  regenerated,  towards  the  endless  waves  of 
eternity,  engulfuig  for  ever  the  unsightly  ruins  of  evil  and  of 
its  debaucheries ! 

THE  PRIOR :  Then,  to  repeat  it  all  in  cool  and  sober 
language,  you  declare  war  against  all  the  powers  of  the  earth  ? 
War  against  the  will  of  the  Church,  war  against  the  manners 
of  princes,  war  against  the  weakness,  the  indifference,  the 
caprice  of  all  ?  That  is  what  you  intend  to  do  ? 
FRA  GIROLAMO:  I  intend  to  do  it,  I  will  do  it!  If  it 
means  death  to  me,  why  not  ?  .  .  .  Are  my  bones  worth 
sparing?  .  .  .  But  if  I  succeed,  and  if,  even  when  I  am 
execrated,  disgraced,  crushed,  dead,  Italy,  our  Italy  owes  me  a 
shining  faith,  a  valiant  freedom,  a  joyful  virtue,  what  ground 
will  you  have  for  pity? 

THE  PRIOR  :  None.  Where  do  you  begin  your  preaching? 
At  Venice  ? 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Venice  is  gagged  by  worldly  wisdom. 
She  will  be  the  last  to  come  to  our  side. 
THE  PRIOR:  At  Rome.? 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Rome  is  the  pillar  of  salvation  submerged 
in  a  sea  of  pestilence.  Butat  Florence  men  can  act.  The  death 
of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  leaves  me  a  free  field  ;  he  would  have 
prevented  everything,  for  he  was  a  pagan  ;  but  the  authority 
of  his  son  Piero  is  sapped  at  its  roots.  The  masses  and  the 
nobles  have  suffered  ;  they  know  at  least  how  to  talk  of  equity 
and  morals,  they  have  some  idea  of  independence  .  .  .  they 
think,  and  although  they  are  not  worth  much,  still  with  them 
it  is  possible  to  attempt  reform.  Besides,  at  Florence  the 
people  loves  me,  it  listens  to  me — I  am  expected. 
THE  PRIOR :  Go  then,  brother  ;  you  have  my  blessing.  .  .  . 
Embrace  me,  both  of  you.  You  are  about  to  put  into  action 
that  which  I  sometimes  dreamed,  in  days  gone  by,  in  my 
youth,  and  which  seems  to  me  very  difficult.  .  .  .  Perhaps  you 
are  right.  ...  I  feel  a  deep  sadness  come  over  me. 


SAVONAROLA 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  I  am  filled  with  a  boundless  hope.     You 

follow  me,  then,  Fra  Silvestre  ? 

FRA  SILVESTRE :  In  death  as  in  life.     I  will  never  leave 

your  side. 

FRxA.  GIROLAMO  :  Come  then !     Open  the  door.     How  the 

countryside  widens  out  before  our  gaze!     It  is  the  image  of 

the  task  we  are  about  to  undertake.     Do  you  not  see  anyone 

on  that  white  road  where  our  steps  will  take  us?     It  is  all  lit 

up  by  the  rays  of  the  moon,  and  stretches  far  in  the  direction 

of  Florence. 

FRA  SILVESTRE :  No,  Girolamo,  I  see  no  one ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :   WeW,  as  for  me,  I  clearly  discern  the 

features  of  two  great  faces  ! 

FRA  SILVESTRE:  Where,  pray,  brother? 

FRA  GIROLAMO:  There!     Look  again!     They  are  Faith 

in  God  and  Our  Country!     Forward,  Fra  Silvestre,  forward! 

After  the  two  monks  have  passed  the  garden  gate  and  the  Prior  has 
shut  it  again,  two  men  dressed  in  shabby  garb,  their  breasts  un- 
covered, their  hair  curly  and  dishevelled,  their  faces  mean,  appear 
behind  an  embrasure  of  the  wall. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Coward! 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Fool!     Do  you  not  see  that  they  are 
two  ? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Well,  what  of  that? 
SECOND  ROBBER :  In  our  trade  we  should  always  be  at 
least  two  to  one. 

FIRST  ROBBER :  Bah !  I  should  have  dealt  a  good  knife- 
thrust  to  the  taller  of  them  ;  as  to  the  shorter,  a  blow  of  the 
fist  would  have  been  enough  to  make  him  roll  like  a  ninepin. 
So  there  are  two  excellent  robes  of  wool  lost  to  us.  It's  out 
of  the  question  to  prosper  with  poltroons  of  your  kidney ! 
SECOND  ROBBER:  Let  us  go  and  drink  a  dram  at  Ruddy- 
locks'  ;  perhaps  the  night  will  bring  us  a  better  opportunity. 


Tlir.    RENAISSANCE 

MILAN. 
1494. 
A  hall  in  the  palace. — Ludovico  Sfurza,  regent  of  the  Milanese,  is  seated 
bclore  a  great  table  covered  with  a  cloth  of  red  velvet  worked  with 
patterns  of  gold,  silver  and  colours.  He  is  dressed  in  black  satin, 
set  olf  with  embroideries  of  jet,  and  wears  at  his  waist  a  richly  inlaid 
dagger.  He  toj's  with  his  glove.  Around  him  are  seated  Antonio 
Cornazano,  author  of  the  poem  on  the  art  of  war  ;  Giovanni  Achillini, 
antiquary,  poet,  Hellenist  and  musician  ;  Gaspardo  Visconti,  famed  for 
his  sonnets  and  considered  by  his  contemporaries  the  equal  of  Petrarch  ; 
Bernardino  Luini,  painter  ;  Lionardo  da  Vinci. 

LUDOVICO:  Well!  this  time,  Master  Lionardo,  have  you 
come  back  for  good  ? 

LIONARDO  :  Sire,  I  do  not  deserve  such  severity.  Your 
highness  knows  well  that  I  am  devoted  to  your  service. 
LUDOVICO  :  Yes,  at  the  moment  you  make  me  the  finest 
protestations  in  the  world,  I  admit ;  and,  weary  of  Florence, 
disgusted  by  the  fanatical  preachings  of  Fra  Girolamo 
Savonarola,  angered  at  the  enthusiasm  they  arouse,  you  are 
ready  (so  you  write  me)  to  invent  me  cannon,  pieces  of  artillery, 
machines  of  every  kind,  to  build  me  bridges,  to  trace  the  plan 
of  our  forts,  to  dig  canals,  and  finally  to  beautify  our  cities 
by  palaces  and  churches,  by  statues  and  paintings.  I  know 
quite  well  that  you  are  capable  of  doing  everything ;  but  can 
you  also  check  your  wayward  temper  ?  How  many  times  have 
you  changed  your  opinions  and  your  friendships !  These  are 
not  reproaches,  my  dear  Lionardo,  but  frankly,  you  are  as 
fickle  as  a  froward  girl. 

LIONARDO  (shaking  his  head) :  I  cannot  help  smiling  at 
the  affectionate  charges  of  Your  Highness,  for,  say  what  you 
will,  they  still  remain  charges,  and  I  confess  that  appear- 
ances are  all  against  me.  Yet  no,  I  am  not  fickle !  I  should 
perhaps  have  spent  my  whole  hfe  at  Florence,  but  there  is  so 
much  to  see  in  the  world,  so  much  to  learn !  If  I  had  dwelt  all 
the  time  in  the  same  place,  I  should  perhaps  lack  two-thirds 
of  the  knowledge  I  have  gained,  and  nevertheless  I  have  not 
reached  the  hundredth  part  of  all  that  I  wish  to  learn. 
ANTONIO  CORNAZANO  :  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for 
you.  Master  Lionardo,  to  give  yourself  up  to  a  single  pursuit, 

8 


SAVONAROLA 

rather  than  to  follow  interests  so  many  and  so  diverse.  For 
example,  you  are  an  admirable  painter — why  seek  your  glory 
elsewhere  ? 

LIONARDO :  You  talk  like  Bernardino. 
BERNARDINO    LUINI :    Ah,  master,  if  you  would  only 
consent  to  finish  the  pictures  you  begin !     What  happiness  for 
me,  your  pupil !     What  lessons ! 

LIONARDO  :  None  the  less,  I  could  not  renounce  geometry 
or  mathematics. 

GASPARDO  VISCONTI  :  You  had  far  better  increase  the 
number  of  your  poems  and  of  your  charming  musical  com- 
positions. Fall  in  love  only  with  the  theorbo  invented  by 
you! 

LIONARDO:  I  shall  return  to  it  and  perfect  it.     Music  is 
new  in  its  first  infancy,  and  will  take  a  long  time  to  grow  up. 
It  is  not  music  that  is  the  subject  of  interest  at  present. 
ACHILLINI :  Is  it  the  treatise  on  optics  ? 
LIONARDO :  Not  even  that. 

LUINI :  Then  it  is  anatomy.  In  that  study  at  least  there  is 
material  for  the  painter. 

LIONARDO :  Anatomy  is  a  fascinating  science.  But  I  am 
above  all  troubled  because  they  refused  at  Florence  to  adopt 
my  plan  for  the  canal  to  Pisa.  The  greatest  advantages  would 
have  resulted  from  it ;  and  if  I  have  come  here,  it  is  because  in 
default  of  this  rejected  scheme  you  will  perhaps  allow  me  to 
persuade  you  to  put  an  end  to  the  floods  from  which  the 
peasants  suffer  so  much  along  the  valleys  of  Chiavenna  and 
Valtelino.     I  have  brought  my  plans. 

LUDOVICO :  Master  Lionardo,  to  a  man  like  you  we  must 
allow  all  freedom  to  create  at  his  own  sweet  will,  for  he  could 
not  produce  results  other  than  admirable.  But  I  know  before- 
hand that  a  whim  will  seize  you,  and  that  you  will  leave  me 
once  more.  You  are  admired  and  summoned  by  every  prince. 
Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  did  all  he  could  to  retain  you  in  the 
midst  of  the  illustrious  men  he  kept  about  him.  He  is  dead, 
and  that  means  one  competitor  the  less ;  but  the  Gonfalonier 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Soderini  only  lei  you  go  with  great  difliculty ;  Galeazzo 
Bcntivoglio  makes  the  most  lavish  offers  to  attract  you  to 
Bologna,  and  1  am  not  unaware  that  the  Duke  of  Valentinois 
has  appointed  you  his  chief  engineer  and  architect.  You  will 
end  by  letting  yourself  be  drawn  away. 

LIONARDO:  1  think  not,  sire,  so  long  as  I  enjoy  your 
bounties,  for  you  have  the  greatest  feeling  for  the  arts  of  any 
prince  in  Italy.  An  admirable  poet  yourself,  you  understand 
the  genius  of  poets ;  men  are  happy  at  your  Court,  they  can 
talk  with  you,  they  are  understood  by  you,  and  the  largesses 
of  your  rich  intellect  are  to  me  a  hundred  times  more  precious 
than  the  gilded  favours  of  the  wealthiest  purses.  I  will  remain 
as  long  as  you  desire. 

LUDOVICO  :  O,  my  friends,  how  sweet  and  beautiful  would 
life  be  if  we  could  see  it  glide  like  a  river  of  paradise  between 
the  verdant  and  fruitful  banks  of  science  and  art !  But  you 
all  know  how  different  reality  is  from  so  glorious  a  fiction, 
and  what  must  be  undergone  by  the  unfortunate  men  ordained 
by  Heaven  to  govern  the  nations !  I  never  feel  a  joy  truly 
unalloyed  save  in  the  too  brief  moments  when  I  am  alone  in 
your  company ! 

LIONARDO  :  It  is  a  great  misfortune  that,  instead  of  being 
our  reigning  duke,  you  are  only  the  temporary  regent  of  the 
State.  We  live  in  an  age  that  has  need  of  men  to  lead  the 
nations,  and  Lord  Galeazzo,  with  his  weak  health  and  his 
scanty  intelligence,  is  nothing  but  a  downright  child.  I  crave 
your  pardon  if  I  speak  so  openly,  but  I  am  only  repeating 
before  you  what  everyone  says  aloud,  when  you  are  not  there, 
and  that,  too,  all  over  the  Milanese  and  in  all  Italy. 
VISCONTI :  That  is  the  precise  truth.  What  a  misfortune 
to  be  governed  at  this  moment  by  so  great  a  prince,  who  is 
condemned  soon  to  abandon  us  to  all  the  hazards  of  inex- 
perience and  weakness ! 

LUDOVICO  :  Your  words  afflict  me  sorely,  friends.  I  love 
my  nephew  Galeazzo ;  I  love  his  wife,  the  Duchess  Isabella, 
and  I  only  seek  means  of  serving  them  ;  albeit — I  cannot  hide 

10 


SAVONAROLA 

it  from  myself,  it  is  no  precious  metal  that  went  to  the  making 
of  my  ward.  God  guard  us  from  the  misfortunes  which  the 
young  man's  lack  of  ability  forebodes  to  our  house ! 
ANTONIO  CORNAZANO:  Sire,  I  served  a  long  while 
under  the  noble  and  valorous  Lord  Bartolommeo  Colleone, 
and  I  have  seen  many  governments  made  and  unmade.  If  I 
misread  not  the  signs  of  the  times,  the  Duchy  has  more  need 
than  ever  to  be  defended  by  a  manly  spirit  and  held  by  a 
strong  hand. 

LUDOVICO  :  You  see  aright.  Lord  Antonio;  I  recognise  in 
your  speech  the  tried  warrior,  the  dexterous  statesman,  no  less 
than  the  scholar  and  the  man  of  letters.  My  friends,  with  you 
I  can  talk  freely  of  the  great  matters  that  engage  our  atten- 
tion ;  besides,  there  are  no  longer  any  secrets  here. 
LIONARDO  :  You  are  about  to  reveal  to  us  one  that  is 
very  great,  sire,  and  that  alone  interests  me  more  than  all 
others :  that  is,  to  show  us  the  way  in  which  noble  and 
courageous  souls  perceive,  represent,  judge  and  hope  to  guide 
the  destinies  of  empires. 

LUDOVICO :  Listen  to  me  then,  philosopher,  since  the 
movements  of  the  human  soul  are  to  you  so  important,  and 
look  at  me,  painter,  if  you  wish  to  gaze  upon  a  man  of  resolu- 
tion. You  know  that  two  years  ago  Pope  Alexander  VI. 
assumed  the  Papal  tiara.  He  whom  men  called  Cardinal 
Roderigo  Borgia  thus  became  the  head  of  the  Church.  You 
all  lower  your  headb  with  a  troubled  air  ?  I  can  well  imagine 
that ;  but  I  know  the  Pope,  I  know  him  through  and  through, 
and  I  will  tell  you  this :  he  is  a  man  gifted  with  lofty  wisdom, 
foresight  and  penetration.  His  eloquence,  when  occasion 
demands,  is  as  irresistible  as  is  his  art  of  gripping  the  minds 
of  men  and  bending  them  to  his  purpose.  As  to  his  inflexible 
perseverance,  it  is  that  of  a  god,  and  by  virtue  of  this  quality, 
the  most  dangerous  in  an  opponent,  he  is  in  almost  all 
encounters  assured  of  success.  There  is  a  man  with  whom  the 
universe  must  reckon,  and  we  all  know  that,  when  armed  for 
war  and  supremacy,  he  knows  no  faith,  no  law,  no  religion, 

II 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

no  scruple,  no  mercy,  and  has  but  one  interest  in  the  world, 
that  of  the  house  of  Borgia  as  represented  by  his  children. 
He  is  a  marvellous  being.     Up  to  now  he  has  succeeded  every- 
where, in  spite  of  being  known  for  what  he  is.     Hence  all  the 
real  statesmen  of  the  College  of  Cardinals,  feeling  themselves 
to  be  in  great  danger,  have  had  recourse  to  the  only  means  of 
safety  that  remained  :  they  have  taken  to  fliglit.   Giuliano  della 
Rovere  stays  in  his  episcopal  city  of  Ostia,  surrounded  by 
fortifications  and  troops ;    Giovanni   Colonna  thinks  himself 
secure  only  in  Sicily.     Giovanni  de'  Medici  is  in  Florence. 
For  my  part  I  confess  that  I  am  as  much  afraid  of  the  man 
as  are  the  Cardinals  themselves.     I  know  that  his  son,  the 
Duke  of  Valentinois,  would  fain  destroy  us  and  deprive  us  of 
the  Milanese ;  I  know  that  the  family  has  allied  itself  to  the 
Aragonese,  my  enemies;    I  know  that  Piero  de'   Medici  is 
arraying  his  Florentines  against  me  ;  I  know  that  from  Venice 
I  can  expect  nothing,  save  to  be  eaten  up  in  the  event  of  my 
growing  weak.     In  this  situation,  it  has  seemed  to  me  profit- 
able to  determine  first  of  all  where  I  should  look  for  my  most 
formidable  adversaries.      There  is  no  possibility  of  mistake 
about  that — they  are   the   Aragonese   and   the    Florentines. 
They  will  attack  me  in  the  open  field  the  very  first  day,  hence 
it  is  towards  them  that  I  must  look  first.     In  doing  so,  I  have 
observed,  not  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  that  every  condition 
that  seems  at  its  worst  is  not  so  bad  as  it  looks,  and  that 
in    analysing   it   with    care   we    can   extract   a   health-giving 
substance    from    the    direst    poison.      Thus    I    found    that 
Alexander  VI.  was,  with  regard  to  Ferdinand  of  Naples  and 
the  Medici,  in  precisely  the  same  position  as  I.     I  accordingly 
sent  my  brother,  Cardinal  Ascanio  Sforza,  to  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  and  we  have  formed  an  alliance.     At  the  same  time 
I   approached  the   Venetians,    who   are   no   better    disposed 
than   he    to    the    house     of    Aragon,    and    in    this    way    I 
have  been  able  to  counterbalance  the  Florentines  by  Venice 
and  the  Aragonese  by  the  Pope.     At  bottom  it  is  but  a  frail 
and  temporary  scaffolding,  a  cardboard  structure  which  will 

12 


SAVONAROLA 

topple  or  catch  fire,  and  in  face  of  this  evidence  and  of  the 
urgent  necessity  of  guarding  myself  carefully  against  my 
allies,  I  have  addressed  the  King  of  France.  I  have  per- 
suaded him,  as  heir  of  the  house  of  Anjou,  to  claim  Naples. 
He  has  added  the  plan  of  dethroning  Alexander  and 
declaring  him  unworthy  of  the  tiara — a  plan  which  leads  me 
to  hope  that  for  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  he  will  not  come  to 
an  understanding  with  the  Pope.  Charles  VIII.  has  crossed 
the  mountains,  he  is  marching  on  Florence  ;  later  on  we  shall 
have  to  think  how  to  send  him  back  ;  but  for  the  present 
consider,  and  tell  me  if  my  nephew  Galeazzo  is  the  man  to 
understand  and  guide  aright  combinations  so  delicate  and  yet 
so  necessary. 

LIONARDO:  Assuredly  not!  But  the  mind  of  one  such 
as  you,  sire,  what  a  powerful  creation  of  the  most  holy 
profundity  of  the  mind  of  God! 

VISCONTI :  It  is  as  certain  that  Duke  Ludovico  is  made  for 
the  crown  as  that  the  crown  will  come  of  its  own  accord  to 
place  itself  on  his  head. 

A  GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING  :  Sire,  I  have  come  from 
Rome  at  full  gallop.  I  had  orders  not  to  delay  for  one  instant. 
Here  is  the  dispatch  which  my  most  reverend  lord,  the  Cardinal 
Ascanio,  commands  me  to  deliver  to  you. 
LUDOVICO  :  Give  it  me.  Let  us  see  what  my  brother 
writes. 

He  goes  to  a  window,  reads  the  dispatch,  and  comes  back  smiling. 

Since  you  are  so  fond  of  learning  things,  Master  Lionardo, 
listen  to  this :  My  ally,  the  Holy  Father,  has  come  to  an 
understanding  with  the  Aragonese.  The  hand  of  Dofia  Sancia 
of  Aragon,  who  is  seventeen,  is  given  to  his  son,  Goffredo 
Borgia,  who  is  thirteen.  Alexander  is  satisfied,  as  indeed  he 
should  be. 

LIONARDO  :  That  confounds  your  plans,  sire. 
LUDOVICO  :    Not  in   the  least.     I   had   played  my  pawn 
before  the  Pope  touched  his.     The  French  are  marching  on 

13 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Florence,  I  tell  you,  and  \vc  nuisl  all  get  into  the  saddle  at 
once,  as  we  are,  to  go  to  Chiara  before  the  King.  I  will  leave 
you  and  go  and  ask  Madam  Beatrice,  my  wife,  to  make  haste, 
she  and  the  fair  ladies  whom  we  are  taking.  The  French  love 
this  kind  of  meeting  and  the  games  that  follow.  Go,  my  lords, 
put  on  your  richest  habits,  you  will  take  my  horses  and  I  will 
present  you  to  Charles  VIII. 
ACIIILLINI  :  We  shall  be  greatly  honoured. 


FLORENCE. 

The  court  of  Luigi  de'  Buonarotti's  little  house.  A  roof  of  beams  in  a 
corner,  under  which  Michael  Angelo  is  working  at  a  statue  of  Hercules 
twenty-four  feet  high.  On  an  upturned  wash  tub  is  seated  Luigi, 
his  father,  his  arms  crossed  and  his  face  troubled. 

LUIGI  :  You  are  now  twenty-two ;  by  my  reckoning  you 
should  bear  yourself  at  that  age  like  a  man.  But  you  are  and 
always  will  be  nothing  but  a  child,  useless  to  yourself  and 
to  others. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  work  as  much  as  I  can  and  deserve 
no  hard  words. 

LUIGI :  Since  the  death  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  what  I 
had  foreseen  has  come  about.  You  earn  nothing.  .  .  . 
Heavens  !     Are  you  crying  again  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (wiping  his  eyes):  I  cannot  think 
without  sorrow  of  my  benefactor,  to  whom  I  owe  so  much. 
LUIGI  :  If  that  man  had  not  made  your  head  swell,  you  would 
have  obeyed  me  and  would  be  better  off.  Instead  of  enrolling 
yourself  among  those  idle  artis't  fellows  and  disgracing  your- 
self, yourself  and  the  honour  of  your  family,  by  following  the 
stonemason's  trade,  you  would  now  be  in  the  silk  business, 
and  I  should  not  see  you  always  covered  with  plaster  and  your 
hands  m  the  mud. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  When  my  deceased  master  had  the 
kindness  to  admit  me  to  the  sculptor's  workshop  in  his  gardens 
of  San  Marco  with  Francesco  Granacci,  he  allowed  me  five 

H 


SAVONAROLA 

ducats  a  month,  and  he  always  paid  handsomely  for  what  I 
did.  What  is  more,  it  is  out  of  consideration  for  me  that  you 
have  obtained  that  post  in  the  Customs  w^hich  gives  bread  to 
you  and  all  the  family, 

LUIGI :  Besides,  your  comrade  Torrigiani,  in  his  frenzy  at 
seeing  you  too  clever,  bruised  your  face  all  over,  you  forget 
that.  That  is  the  glorious  advantage  you  have  gained  from 
Lorenzo  the  Magnificent!  I'm  sorry  for  you. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  For  good  or  evil,  I  am  what  I  am. 
You  don't  intend  to  put  me  to-day  into  apprenticeship  with  a 
weaver  ? 

LUIGI :  Well,  that  would  be  the  best  thing  to  do.  It's  plain 
that  the  Medici  will  not  order  any  more  pictures  or  statues 
from  you.  Duke  Piero  is  not  like  his  predecessor,  and  what 
will  become  of  you  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Duke  Piero  does  not  treat  me  badly. 
Only  yesterday  evening  he  asked  my  advice  about  an  antique 
cornelian  which  has  been  offered  him  for  sale. 
LUIGI :  And  he  has  even  made  you  fashion  a  statue  of  snow. 
A  noble  task!  Honourable,  forsooth!  The  man  uses  you 
as  one  uses  a  buffoon.  The  first  fine  day  he'll  abandon  you 
to  the  spite  of  those  daubers  of  canvas  in  the  midst  of  whom 
you  have  chosen  to  live.  I  tell  you  once  more  that  1  do  not 
approve  of  your  great  friendship  with  that  Francesco  Granacci ; 
he  is  a  scamp.  I  am  still  more  annoyed  at  your  frequenting 
the  company  of  young  Niccolo  Machiavelli.  It  is  true,  he  is 
of  good  birth,  I  don't  deny  it,  but  they  say  he  has  no  morals, 
and  he  has  got  married  to  Marietta  at  an  age  when  he  ought 
to  think  of  nothing  but  making  his  way.  He  only  busies 
himself  with  the  ancient  Romans!  Then,  too,  he  is  without 
means,  and  very  soon  he'll  want  to  borrow  money  from  you, 
if  he  has  not  done  so  already.  Has  he  tried  yet? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  You  know  that  I  give  you  all  that 
I  earn. 

LUIGI:  Can  I  guess  what  you  put  aside?     But  we'll  leave 
''  .5 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

that  vexed  question.     1  doii'l  like  Alachiavelli ;   1  think  he  is 

conspiring  against  the  government  of  Duke  Piero.  .  .  .  Not 

that  I  trouble  much  about  the  Medici.     They  are  ahvays  on 

the  point  of  being  driven  out,  and  decidedly  we  are  sick  of 

them.    I  am  quite  aware  also  that  worthy  Fra  Girolamo  favours 

government  by  the  people,  and   God  forbid  that  I   should 

oppose  Fra  Girolamo's  views!     But  I  do  not  care  for  a  man's 

meddling   with    affairs    of   State    when    he's    a    misbegotten 

creature   like   that   Machiavelli.      What   do   you   and   he  do 

together  ?     What  do  you  talk  about  ?     He  will  draw  you  into 

some  piece  of  foolishness.     Just  tell  me  what  plots  you  hatch 

when  you  go  out  together. 

Michael  Angelo  lays  lus  tools  on  the  seat  and  sits  on  the  bench,  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?     Are  you  ill  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  !  have  a  bad  headache. 

LUIGI :  It's  idleness  that  makes  you  ill.     If  you  worked  at 

something  useful  you  would  feel  well. 

Enter  Niccol6  Machiavelli 

MACHIAVELLI :    Messer    Ludovico,    I    greet   you   in    all 

humility.     Good  morning,  Michael  Angelo. 

LUIGI :  I  am  busy,  I  have  to  go  out,  sir — and  as  for  you, 

Michael  Angelo,  remember  that  you  are  working  there  at  a 

task  that  admits  of  no  slackening,  and  that  you  have  no  time 

to  chat.     God  guard  you,  Messer  Niccolo. 

Exit. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Ah !  my  friend,  I  have  come  to  tell  you 

quickly  what  it  is  that  fills  my  soul  with  joy.     The  French 

will  be  here  in  a  few  hours. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  As  friends  ?     As  enemies  ? 

MACHIAVELLI :    Nothing    is    known.      Negotiations    are 

being  carried  on ;  if  friendship  cannot  be  established,  we  shall 

resist  like  men  and  defend  our  countr}^     But  there's  more  to 

come !     Piero  de'  Medici  commits  nothing  but  follies.     Fra 

Girolamo  has  come  over  to  our  way  of  thinking,  and  is  joining 

the  popular  party,  so  that  the  coming  of  the  French  will  cause 

the  fall  of  that  haughty  house  whose  pride  stifles  our  liberties. 

i6 


SAVONAROLA 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  I  owe  everything  to  the  father,  and 
will  not  be  reckoned  among  the  foes  of  the  children. 
MACHIAVELLI :  You  have  a  heart ;  but  remember  that  the 
interests  of  your  country  come  before  your  own.  All  is  in 
ferment ;  the  water  is  hot,  burning,  boiling.  The  whole 
people  is  working  itself  into  a  frenzy.  Ah,  Michael  Angelo! 
what  a  glorious  moment !  I  am  going  to  see  liberty,  settled 
order,  wise  government  elsewhere  than  in  the  dead  pages  of 
old  books  and  in  the  abstractions  of  my  dreams !  Every  man 
worthy  of  the  name  in  Florence  is  on  our  side :  Soderini, 
Valori,  Vespuccio,  Marsilio  Ficino,  the  scholars,  the  artists,  all 
devotees  of  high  thinking,  all  well-wishers  towards  mankind ! 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  am  not  on  your  side.  I  will  have 
none  of  you.  The  Medici  are  my  patrons,  and  it  is  not  to 
my  liking  that  Era  Girolamo,  instead  of  continuing  to  preach 
virtue  to  us  as  of  old,  meddles  with  politics. 
MACHIAVELLI :  His  meddling  is  to  a  good  purpose,  and 
when  we  can  act,  we  must.  Action  alone  is  worthy  of  a  man. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Come  into  my  room.  I  have  to  dress 
and  pack  up  my  things. 

MACHIAVELLI  :  Where  are  you  going,  then? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  To  Bologna,  to  see  Duke  Galeazzo 
Bentivoglio  ;  and  if  I  am  not  well  received  at  Bologna,  I  shall 
go  to  Venice.  I  shall  not  remain  in  the  midst  of  this  turmoil ; 
one  cannot  work  in  it ;  besides,  I  have  other  reasons.  It  is 
impossible  for  me  any  longer  to  endure.  .  .  Well,  come  !  You 
shall  lead  me  up  to  the  town  gate. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Before  that  I'll  prove  to  you  that  you  are 
wrong.     Listen ! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Talk  as  much  as  you  like  ;  my  mind 
i&  made  up. 

He  goes  back  into  the  house. 


F  2  j; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


PIACENZA. 


A  palace  serving  as  residence  to  King  Charles  VIII.      An  ante-chamber. 
Two  French  captains. 

FIRST  CAPTAIN  :  Is  it  you,  comrade  ?  Ah,  let  me  embrace 
you! 

SECOND  CAPTAIN  :  You  are  welcome.  How  well  you 
look!     Egad,  what  health! 

FIRST  CAPTAIN  :  Ay,  on  my  honour,  we  lead  a  fine  life! 
Where  do  you  hail  from? 

SECOND  CAPTAIN  :  Straight  from  Lyons.  I  bring  you 
twenty-five  lancers  fully-armed.  It  cost  me  dear  to  raise  them ! 
Picked  men  all ! 

FIRST  CAPTAIN  :  You  will  find  a  hundred  and  one  oppor- 
tunities of  recouping  yourself.  Do  you  know  that  all  is  going 
wonderfully  well  ? 

SECOND  CAPTAIN  :  Tell  me  something  of  your  fortunes. 
FIRST  CAPTAIN:  You  haven't  heard?  Everything  is 
going  splendidly!  At  Turin  we  were  received  with  open 
arms ;  and  there,  after  a  deal  of  festivities,  we  borrowed  the 
diamonds  and  jewellery  of  the  Duchess  Bianca.  She  frowned 
a  trifle  at  first,  but  we  pawned  the  lot. 
SECOND  CAPTAIN  :  What  fun  you  must  have  had. 
FIRST  CAPTAIN:  There's  twelve  hundred  good  ducats 
earned.  At  Casale,  the  Marchioness  of  Montferrat  gave  us  a 
ball — silly  creature  !  and  also  showed  us  her  jewels.  The  same 
as  at  Turin  :  we  had  a  raffle. 

SECOND  CAPTAIN  :  So  this  country  is  a  real  paradise 
and  a  promised  land  ? 

FIRST  CAPTAIN  :  My  oath  upon  it !  What  is  more,  we  are 
well-established  at  Genoa,  and  the  Milanese  troops  give  us  a 
helping  hand.  The  Swiss,  it  is  true,  have  sacked  the  city  of 
Rapallo,  inconsiderately,  perhaps  ;  they  might  have  plundered 
less  completely  and  avoided  killing  everyone ;  but,  in  general, 
the  result  has  been  good.  The  Duke  d'Aubigny  apprises  us 
from  the  Romagna  that  the  Neapolitans  are  showing  the  white 
feather  and  retreating  before  him     When  we  have  reached 

i8 


To  face  fiage  i8 


Kl.\(.     CIIARLKS     Mil.     OK     FRANCE 


SAVONAROLA 

Asti,  Duke  Galeazzo's  uncle  came  to  meet  us  with  his  sister 

Beatrice,  and  I'll  whisper  in  your  ear  that  he  presented  to 

the  King  a  number  of  Milanese  ladies  who,  on  my  honour, 

have  given  us  most  excellent  entertainment. 

SECOND  Cx\PTAIN  :  You  make  my  mouth  water.     A  pity 

that  I  did  not  come  sooner ! 

FIRST  CAPTAIN :  There'll  be  no  lack  of  chances.     Hush ! 

here  is  the  King. 

Enter  Charles  VIII.,  small,  feeble,  but  haughty  of  expression ;  he  is  pale 
and  worn  in  consequence  of  the  illness  caught  a  few  days  before 
at  Asti,  from  which  he  nearly  died.  In  his  retinue,  several  officers, 
Philip  de  Commines,  Lord  d'Argenton  ;  Lords  de  Bonneval,  de 
Chatillon,  both  great  favourites  of  the  King ;  the  physician  Teodoro 
of  Pavia. 

THE  KING  :  You  say,  Teodoro,  that  Galeazzo  has  just  died, 

and  that  the  cause  of  this  sudden  death  is  not  clear. 

TEODORO  :  On  the  contrary,  sire,  I  fear  it  is  only  too  clear. 

There  was  poison. 

THE  KING :  Ludovico  the  Moor*  goes  too  far.     What  has 

he  done  with  the  Duchess  Isabella  and  his  nephew's  children  ? 

TEODORO :  They  are  locked  up  in  a  dark  and  somewhat 

unhealthy  chamber. 

THE  KING :  I  am  sorry  for  that — but  I  have  other  matters 

to  think  of.     This  Ludovico  would  be  capable  of  poisoning 

me  myself,  in  spite  of  his  fine  show  of  friendship.     M.  D'Urfe 

writes  that  to  me.     I  do  not  know  why  I  remain  in  Italy.     I  am 

advised  to  return  home,  and  perhaps  that  were  my  best  course. 

This  country  holds  nothing  but  traitors. 

DE    BONNIVAL:    Still,    there    are    the    Medici,    especially 

Cardinal  Giovanni,  strongly  urging  us  not  to  desert  their  cause. 

DE  COMMINES  :  It  is  only  natural  that  those  Medici  should 

have  little  scruple  about  making  the  King  fish  in  troubled 

waters  ;   they  are  bent  on  returning  to  their  city  and  taking 

vengeance. 

DE  CHATILLON:  Those  Florentines!  Lunatics,  counselled 

•  '  The  Moor,'   a  name  given  to  Ludovico   Sforza   on   account  of   his 
swarthy  countenance. 

19 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

by  a  monk  named  Girolamo.     A  strange  fellow !     And  their 

prince,  a  coward,  a  man  of  straw,  brow-beaten  and  gagged  by 

Gino  Capponi  and  all  the  enemies  of  his  house,  before  whom 

he  can  only  tremble !     I  cannot  hear  his  name  even  without 

feeling  a  desire  to  spit  on  him.     (Laughter.)     He  is  incapable 

of  recognising  the  benefits  showered  on  him  by  your  Royal 

house ! 

THE  KING  :  I  have  been  told  that  my  ancestor  Charlemagne 

and  his  twelve  peers  built  Florence ;  is  it  true  ? 

DE  COMMINES  :  If  they  did  not  exactly  build  it,  at  any  rate 

they  helped  it  to  emerge  from  its  ruins. 

THE  KING :  Then  the  Florentines  are  my  subjects  ;    they 

are  rebels ;    my  knightly  vow  compels  me  to  chastise  them, 

and  I  shall  carry  it  out  with  a  vengeance. 

DE  COMMINES:  It  would  be  more  politic  to  guide  these 

people  to  better  sentiments  than  to  estrange  them  from  us. 

Since  your  Alajesty  has  decided  to  go  to  Naples  by  way  of 

Tuscany,  we  must  keep  the  road  behind  us  open. 

DE  BONNEVAL :  The  Lord  d'Argenton  always  seems  to 

think  that  we  might  be  defeated. 

THE  KING :  It  is  true.     You  have  not  a  generous  spirit,  my 

Lord — you  are  like  my  father. 

DE  COMMINES  :   He  was  a  great  prince,  and  exceedingly 

shrewd. 

DE  CHATILLON  (very  loud) :  The  King  has  not  invaded 

Italy  to  play  the  pedant,  but  rather  to  display  to  the  world  his 

valour,  and  astonish  it  by  mighty  feats  of  arms. 

THE  KING  :  I  need  no  other  models  than  the  famous  Gawain, 

Lancelot  and  Rinaldo,  who  performed  such  noble  exploits. 

With  God  to  aid  me,  I  hope  to  do  likewise ! 

DE  CHATILLON  :   That's  the  v/ay  to  talk !     What  is  the 

use  of  being  a  valiant  knight  and  redoubtable  conqueror  if  one 

stops  to  reflect,  to  weigh,  to  balance,  in  a  word,  to  play  the 

fox  ?     'Zounds,  we  shall  go  everywhere,  everywhere  !     On  our 

heads  and  our  bellies  !     With  great  sword-strokes,  with  mighty 

20 


SAVONAROLA 

lance-thrusts !     Without  that,  it  had  not  been  worth  while  to 

come  so  far ! 

BONNEVAL  :  Blows,  battles,  amours,  feasts  and  triumphs! 

If  there  is  anything  else,  I  shall  go  back. 

THE  KING  (smiling) :  They  are  right !     I  feel  the  same ! 

Go  to  bed.  Lord  Philip  ;  you  are  old,  your  heart  has  lost  its 

glow. 


ROME. 


The  chamber  of  Pope  Alexander  VI. — The  Pope,  Giorgio  Bosarcli  ;  Burchard, 
master  of  the  ceremonies. 

THE    POPE  :    Master   Burchard,  my  friend,    stay   a   while 
behind  the  door  and  see  that  no  one  comes  to  interrupt  us. 
I  have  to  speak  to  that  lad  there. 
BURCHARD :  Yes,  Most  Holy  Father. 

He  passes  behind  the  door. 
THE  POPE  :    Now,  Giorgio,   ass  that  you  are,  pay  me  all 
attention  and  try  to  understand.    You  are  going  to  start  to-day 
for  Constantinople,  and  you  will  make  all  possible  speed. 
BOSARDI :  Yes,  Holy  Father. 

THE  POPE  :  Listen  to  me  carefully.  You  will  only  speak 
to  the  Grand  Vizier  himself,  in  the  strictest  secrecy — you 
understand  ? 

BOSARDI :  Yes,  Holy  Father.  I  comprehend  the  intention  of 
Your  Holiness.     It  is  only  in  the  strictest  secrecy  that  I  shall 
speak — and  then  cautiously — with  the  Grand  Vizier. 
THE  POPE  :  And  you  w^ill  only  be  quite  explicit  with  the 
Sultan  Bajazet  in  person. 
BOSARDI :  That  was  my  idea.  Holy  Father. 
THE  POPE  :    Don't  imagine  yourself  too  knowing.     I  am 
quite  aware  that  you  are  merely  a  fool,  but  in  certain  circum- 
stances one  does  not  know  whom  to  trust,  and  you  can  never 
count  for  certain  upon  clever  men. 
BOSARDI :   Yes,  Holy  Father. 
THE  POPE  :  You  will  say  to  the  Grand  Vizier,  if  you  cannot 

21 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

speak  first  to  tlic  Sullan,  that  I  send  him  my  sincerest  compli- 
ments and  give  him  my  apostohc  benediction. 
BOSARDl:   Yes,  Holy  Father. 

THE  POPE  :  You  will  add  that  I  do  not  forget  for  a  single 
day,  for  a  single  minute,  his  affection  for  me,  that  I  repay  it  to 
him  with  interest,  and  you  will  deliver  to  him  from  me  this 
charming  Madonna  of  Giovanni  Bellini  for  which  he  has  asked 
me  through  his  master's  ambassador  at  Venice. 
BOSARDl:    I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so.  Holy  Father.     The 
Madonna  has  already  been  taken  to  Ostia,  and  put  on  board 
my  galley,  and  I    shall  address  the  Sultan  Bajazet  and  his 
minister  in  the  words  best  suited  to  convince  them  of  the  most 
friendly  sentiments  of  your  Holiness  towards  their  persons. 
THE  POPE  :  Then,  coming  to  essentials,  you  will  begin  by 
reminding  them  how  surprised  I  am,  and  with  good  reason, 
at  not  receiving  the  two  quarters  already  due  of  that  annuity 
of  forty  thousand  ducats,  granted  to  Pope  Innocent  VIII.  from 
1489  ;  and  you  will  not  omit  to  insist  on  the  fact  that  I  deserve 
it  quite  as  much  as  my  predecessor,  since  I  watch  no  less 
carefully  over  Prince  Zizimi,  brother  to  the  Sultan,  and  do  not 
let  him  pass  out  of  my  guardianship. 

BOSARDl :  Your  Holiness  may  rest  quite  assured.     I  shall 
make  him  renew  payment  of  the  annuity. 
THE  POPE  :  This  settled,  you  will  describe  the  frenzied  am- 
bition of  the  King  of  France.     You  will  explain  that  his  main 
idea  in  seizing  the  kingdom  of  Naples  is  to  proceed  to  the 
attack  of  Constantinople,  in  order  to  gain  the  crown  of  the 
Byzantine  emperors.     He  is  not  yet  at  Florence  at  the  present 
moment,  he  wishes  to  come  to  my  territory  so  as  to  fight  the 
Aragonese ;     nevertheless,    he    already    hides    none     of    his 
ambitious  aims,  which  threaten  the  security  of  the  Ottoman 
throne.     He  has  told   me  of  his  projects,  he  has   told  the 
Venetians,  the  Duke  of  Milan,  they  are  no  secrets ;  but  what 
he  confided  to  me  in  particular,  and  what  I  am  revealing  to 
Bajazet,  is  his  wish  to  take  away  the  Prince  Zizimi  from  me, 
so  that  he  can  use  him  at  the  proper  time  and  place  against  the 

22 


i'Ol'K     AI.i;X.\M)l.R     \1. 


To  jii(c  piigr  u 


SAVONAROLA 

Sultan.  Bajazet  is  bound  to  be  terrified  at  such  an  idea — you 
will  point  out  to  him  the  serious  consequences.  So  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  shall  not  yield  to  Charles  VIII. 's  importunities  ; 
I  shall  not  deliver  Zizimi  to  the  King  of  France,  so  long  as  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  resist ;  and  if  finally,  being  no  longer  the 
more  powerful,  I  am  obliged  to  let  my  prisoner  go,  I  shall 
arrange  to  hand  him  over  under  such  conditions  that  the 
Sultan  need  feel  no  anxiety  about  him.  You  can  promise  him 
that  from  me.  But  it  is  an  understood  thing  that  Bajazet 
must  merit  so  great  a  service.  You  will  put  these  confidences 
in  a  way  that  will  not  be  compromising. 

BOSARDI :  It  is  not  difficult  to  show  the  connection  and  the 
bearing  of  events  without  saying  a  single  word  about  them. 
THE  POPE :  As  to  the  good  offices  which  I  expect  from  my 
ally  they  are — to  help  me  to  drive  the  barbarians  from  Italy ; 
and  for  this  purpose  it  would  be  useful  to  have  at  my  disposal, 
either  in  the  Romagna  or  in  Apulia,  a  good  Turkish  army. 
This  would  ensure  our  gaining  the  upper  hand  of  the  French, 
which  would  be  advantageous  to  the  Sultan  as  well  as  to  me. 
That  is  your  mission — do  you  understand  it  all  ? 
BOSARDI :  Yes,  Holy  Father — the  annuity  of  forty  thousand 
ducats,  and  Turkish  troops  in  Italy. 

THE   POPE  :   Go,  make  all  speed !     Send  me   good  news 
promptly.  .  .  .  Burchard !     Ho,  Burchard! 
BURCHARD  :  Most  Holy  Father? 

THE  POPE  :  Conduct  this  gentleman  to  the  Holy  Signatory 
and  have  his  letters  of  credit  delivered  to  him  as  well  as  the 
private  letter  which  I  am  addressing  to  the  Sultan.  Ah !  if  I 
could  stop  these  French  bandits  before  they  reach  Rome ! 

Enter  a  chamberlain 
CHAMBERLAIN:  An  envoy  of  the  Duke  of  Milan  waits 
without,  Holy  Father. 

THE  POPE  :  Who  is  it  ?  Ah  !  good !  it's  the  little  man !  .  .  . 
The  confidant !  .  .  .  Come  in,  my  friend.  How  does  my  Lord 
Ludovico  ?  So  his  nephew  Galeazzo  has  died  in  his  arms  of 
a  sudden  illness,  and  the  aforesaid  Galeazzo's  little  son,  also  ? 

23 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

THE  ENVOY:  Yes.  Most  Holy  Father. 
THE   POPE  :  Your  master  is  subject  to  such  misfortunes. 
What  says  he  ? 

THE  ENVOY:  He  says  that  Your  Ilohness  is  not  keeping 
your  word  in  the  affair  of  Fra  Girolamo.  You  humour  this 
fanatic,  and  his  preachings  go  on  all  the  time.  Not  to  mention 
that  the  Florentines  would  be  more  amenable  and  would 
desert  the  French  cause  with  all  their  heart,  if  this  monk  were 
not  turning  their  heads ;  the  North  of  Italy  is  all  topsy-turvy. 
The  princes  are  very  discontented ;  the  clergy  is  still  more 
so ;  they  are  going  to  lose  their  domains  ;  Savonarola  talks 
of  nothing  less  than  of  handing  over  to  the  sick  the  ecclesias- 
tical estate  and  even  the  sacred  vessels. 
THE  POPE :  I  find  the  Duke  of  Milan's  solicitude  for  Holy 
Church  rather  amusing.  I  shall  not  trouble  about  Savonarola 
so  long  as  I  have  heavier  burdens  on  my  hands.  Why  has 
your  master,  in  spite  of  his  promises,  not  already  broken,  with 
the  French  ?  Is  he  jesting  ?  If  the  Venetians  have  taken  no 
action,  they  are  at  least  making  preparations  and  have  given 
us  pledges.  Are  the  Neapolitans  and  ourselves  likely  to  await 
your  good  pleasure  indefinitely?  The  Florentines  and  your 
master  are  the  only  parties  left  who  will  not  come  to  a  decision. 
When  will  it  all  end  ? 

THE  ENVOY :  A  Roland  for  an  Oliver !     Act  with  sincerity 
as  regards  Savonarola  and  we  will  consider  your  interests. 
That  is  your  message  from  the  Grand  Duke. 
THE  POPE :  Go  and  chat  about  all  this  with  Don  Cesare, 
and  I  will  see  what  can  be  done. 


24 


SAVONAROLA 

NEAR  FLORENCE. 

A  road  in  a  hollow  near  the  French  camp.  A  peasant's  house  burning  ; 
the  owner  is  lying  on  the  ground,  weeping  ;  on  a  stone  are  seated 
Jean  de  Bonneau,  archer  of  M.  de  Terride's  company,  and  Jacques 
Lamy,  another  archer,  engaged  in  eating  bread  and  onions  on  their 
thumbs  ;  from  time  to  time  they  take  a  draught  of  wine  from  their 
gourds. 

LAMY  (to  the  peasant) :  How  old  was  your  wife  ? 

PEASANT  (weeping) :  Nearly  twenty-two. 

DE   BONNEAU:   Was    she  pretty?     Come!    don't  groan! 

You're  like  a  calf.     The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  they  have 

killed  her.     What  of  it  ? 

PEASANT  (wringing  his  hands) :  Ah,  my  God  !  my  God  ! 

LAMY :  We  are  rough  fellows,  we  Gascons.     Eat  a  bit.  .  .  . 

Here! 

PEASANT  :  No  !  .  .  .  no  !     Ah,  my  God  ! 

LAMY :  Don't  you  see,  my  good  man,  that  what's  done  is 

done !  .  .  .  That's  war.     The  soldier,  too,  must  have  his  fun. 

PEASANT :  My  wife !  ...  My  poor  wife !  .  .  . 

LAMY :  It  would  be  better  if  you  set  about  putting  out  the 

fire  of  your  hovel.  .  .  .  Everything  will  be  burnt ! 

PEASANT :  It's  all  one  to  me. 

DE  BONNEAU :  He's  a  savage.     Well,  good-day.     Console 

yourself.     Are  you  coming,  Jacques  ? 

LAMY  (to  the  peasant) :  Here,  my  lad,  I  leave  you  the  rest 

of  the  bread  and  two  onions.  .  .  .  When  your  heart  bids  you, 

eat  I     There's  no  doubt  he  is  a  savage. 

The  peasant  sobs  ;  the  soldiers  go  off  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices : — 

Chatillon,  Bourdillon,  Bonneval 
Hold  the  Royal  house  in  thrall. 


25 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

FLORENCE. 

In  front  of  the  Mcilici  Palace. — The  square  is  filled  with  people.  Sudden 
cries,  shouts,  roars  and  clamours.  At  the  doors  of  the  palace  are 
drawn  up  bantls  of  French  and  Swiss  cross-bowmen,  musketeers  and 
pikcmen  ;  two  companies  in  battle  array  ;  bodies  of  artillery  come  up 
through  tlie  crowd  and  take  up  their  position  in  front.  At  the  windows, 
numbers  of  French  captains  and  oflicers,  their  casques  on  their  heads. 

A  PORTER  (shaking  his  fist  at  the  French) :  Oh,  the  ruffians ! 
A  BUTCHER:  Cursed  thieves!  See  if  I  don't  sht  their 
belhes,  all  of  them,  with  my  cleaver! 

A  CITIZEN  (mounted  on  a  boundary-stone)  :  Citizens,  friends, 
don't  believe  a  word  of  what  they  tell  you  of  these  wretches 
from  across  the  mountains !  They,  our  friends !  Friends, 
indeed !  They  have  taken  Sarzana  by  storm  and  burnt  it ; 
they  have  massacred  men,  women  and  children !  Dreadful 
sights  have  been  seen  1 

CRIES  IN  TliE  SQUARE  :  Down  with  the  French ! 
CITIZEN  (gesticulating) :  We  have  driven  out  Piero  de' 
Medici !  He  has  gone  to  join  his  scoundrelly  brothers,  the 
Cardinal  and  the  other  one !  And  these  foreigners  want  to 
bring  them  back!  Is  he  not  a  coward?  Is  he  not  a  traitor? 
We  have  dragged  his  scutcheons  in  the  mire,  and  now  we  are 
to  restore  them  ?  We  have  razed  his  palace  to  the  ground 
and  now  we  are  to  build  it  up  again  ?  It's  a  scandal ! 
VIOLENT  SHOUTS  :  Death  to  the  Medici !  Death  to  the 
French ! 

A  YOUTH  (leaping  on  another  boundary-stone) :  Yes,  death 
to  them  all !  They  are  fiends  !  They  are  barbarians !  After 
they  made  Pisa  revolt  from  us  and  threatened  us  with  a  siege, 
we  admitted  them  to  our  city !  We  have  suffered  Charles  VIII. 
to  make  his  entry  under  a  dais  like  the  Host !  We  have  let 
them  march  through  the  streets  in  battle  array,  with  lance  on 
thigh  like  conquerors!  We  have  given  them  flatteries,  com- 
pliments, embraces !  We  have  played  them  the  Annunciation 
of  the  most  Holy  Virgin  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Felice,  and 
that  twice  over  because  they  asked  us  to,  and  now  they  want 
to  enslave  us ! 

26 


SAVONAROLA 

THE  CROWD :  No !   No !   No !   Death  to  the  French !    Give 
us  cudgels  and  swords  ! 

Great  agitation  ;  the  people  begin  to  arm  themselves. 

CAPTAIN  TERRIDE  (to  his  Lieutenant):  Remain  at  the 

head  of  the  company  and  bid  the  men  lower  their  visors.  .  .  . 

I  am  going  up  there  to  relate  what  is  happening. 

LIEUTENANT :  My  Lord,  one  good  charge  at  that  crowd, 

eh? 

CAPTAIN  TERRIDE:  Yes;    but  wait  for  the  order.     No 

rash  measures ! 

He  gets  down  from  his  horse  and  goes  into  the  palace. 


A  hall  in  the  Medici  Palace.  The  King,  PhiUp  of  Savoy,  Count  de  Bresse, 
M.  de  Piennes,  M.  de  Bourdillon,  M.  d'Argenton  ;  officers  in  great 
number  ;  Messer  Gino  Capponi  and  three  Florentine  commissaries.  - 

THE  KING  (stamping  his  foot)  :  I  am  master  here !   I  demand 

obedience ! 

CAPPONI :  Your  Majesty  will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  us 

once  more  what  you  claim,  and  we  shall  report  to  the  Signiory. 

THE  KING  :  So  be  it !     Give  me  all  your  attention  ;  I  shall 

not  repeat  my  words  a  third  time,  and  if  you  are  fractious,  you 

shall  smart  for  it. 

DE  PIENNES:  Well  spoken! 

THE  KING :  I  wish  you  to  take  back  your  prince,  Messer 

Piero  de'  Medici. 

Applause  from  the  French. 
CAPPONI :  I  am  listening. 

THE  KING:  Will  you  take  him  back? 

CAPPONI:   I   am  listening,  and  when  we  know  what  the 

point  at  issue  is,  we  shall  answer. 

THE  KING :  You  do  not  appear  resolved  to  submit. 

CAPPONI  :  You  will  see  that  by  results.     For  the  moment, 

we  are  listening  to  Your  Majesty,  so  that  we  may  know  what 

your  wishes  are. 

THE  KING :  I  say,  then,  that  I  desire  first  of  all  that  Messer 

27 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Piero  be  restored ;  secondly,  that  all  the  Signiory  be  hence- 
forth of  my  choosing. 
CAPPONI:  That  is  what  you  wish? 
THE  KING  :  Yes,  I  wish  that. 
CAPPONI :    Well,  as  for  us,  we  do  not  wish  it. 
THE  KING:  You  do  not? 
CAPPONI :  No,  we  do  not. 

THE  KING:  Body  of  Christ!     You  are  bold  indeed! 
CAPPONI  :  At  this  moment  we  must  be  bold. 
THE  KING  (to  one  of  his  officers)  :    Give  me  the  treaty  which 
these  men  are  about  to  sign  immediately.     Here,  gentlemen, 
sit  down  at  these  tables ;  here  is  ink,  here  are  pens,  don't  be 
obstreperous,  my  patience  is  near  an  end.     Sign,  sign,  sign ! 
CAPPONI   (snatching  the  treaty   from   its   bearer's    hands, 
tears  it  in  two) :    That  is  how  the  Florentines  behave  towards 
tyrants ! 

THE  KING  (beside  himself):  Let  the  trumpets  blow! 
CAPPONI  :   And  we'll  set  the  bells  ringing! 

Exit  with  his  colleagues. 

CAPTAIN  TERRIDE  (rushes  into  the  room) :    Orders,  sire! 

The  crowd  in  the  square  is  enormous,  we  are  going  to  be 

attacked !     Your   Swiss    troops   wanted   to   seize   the   Borgo 

d'Ogni    Santi,    they    were    roughly    handled    and    repulsed. 

What  are  your  commands? 

THE    KING :    Call    back    Messer    Capponi    as    quickly    as 

possible. 

The  King  walks  in  agitation  up  and  down  the  room  ;  M.  de  Bourdillon 
comes  and  wliispers  to  him  ;  silence  ;  cries  and  shouts  are  heard 
from  the  mob  in  the  square. 

Enter  the  Florentine  deputies. 

THE  KING  (taking  Capponi's  hand) :    Oh  Capon,  wicked 

Capon,  you  are  playing  us  a  scurvy  trick  here ! 

CAPPONI :  I  am  Your  Majesty's  servant,  and  ready  to  serve 

you  in  all  that  is  reasonable. 

THE  KING:  My  servant! 

CAPPONI :   The  most  loyal  of  servants. 

38 


SAVONAROLA 

THE  KING :  Very  well,  seeing  that  you  refuse  my  offers, 

which  were  all  for  your  good,  make  a  proposal  yourself. 

CAPPONI :  You  are  a  great  king,  you  have  a  knightly  and 

generous  spirit,  we  ask  you  to  add  to  the  glorious  titles  of  your 

predecessors  the  no  less  splendid  title  of  restorer  and  protector 

of  Florentine  liberties. 

THE  KING  :  I  am  willing. 

CAPPONI :   We   offer  you,    as   token   of   our   gratitude,    a 

gratuity  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  golden  florins. 

THE  KING:  I  accept;   and  what  then? 

CAPPONI :  What  then?     Your  magnanimity  will  restore  us 

our  fortresses  ;  you  will  give  us  back  Pisa,  and  it  will  be  settled 

that  Piero  de'  Medici  shall  not  come  within  two   hundred 

miles  of  our  walls. 

THE  KING  :   So  be  it !     Now  that  we  are  good  friends,  I 

will  stay  with  you. 

CAPPONI :  No,  sire.     A  Republic  cannot  without  anxiety  see 

so  many  foreign  troops  in  its  midst.     Your  Majesty  will  depart 

with  your  troops  and  leave  us  in  our  independence. 

THE   KING  :    Upon  my  life,   Messer   Piero,    you  adopt  a 

strange  tone  !     Am  I  a  lackey,  to  be  dismissed  like  this  ?     Do 

you  think  me  the  basest  of  poltroons  ?     You  take  too  great 

advantage  of  my  clemency !     I  have  a  sword  at  my  side,  I  will 

draw  it  if  I  am  given  cause  for  anger.     No,  assuredly  I  shall 

not  go!     By  the  body  of  Christ,  I  shall  stay  as  long  as  I 

please,  do  you  mark  me  ?     If  I  have  to  stay  in  your  buildings 

when   they  are  ground   to   dust  by  my   cannon!     Oh,   you 

fancied Who  is  this  monk  ? 

Enter  Sa/onarola, 
CAPPONI :  Sire,  this  is  Era  Girolamo. 

THE   KING :    We   don't  need    his  cassock.     I   know  you, 
Brother,  you  are  nothing  but  a  hypocrite,  a  revolutionary,  a 

madman.     Out  you  go,  or  I'll 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  You  will  do  nothing  so  long  as  God,  my 
Master,  shields  me  with  His  right  hand.     I  hear  that  you  do 

29 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

not  wish  to  go  ?     You  think  once  more  to  crush  this  unhappy 

city  beneath  your  horses'  hoofs?     I  tell  )'ou  this 

THE  KING:  Put  him  out! 

CAPPONI :    Have  a  care,  sire!     Wrath  and  rebellion  are 
raging  in  Florence.     If  you  lay  a  hand  on  Fra  Girolamo,  you 
will  lay  a  hand  on  our  love  of  our  country.     Believe  me,  believe 
me !     Listen  to  him  instead  of  insulting  him,  otherwise  the 
stones  themselves  will  rise  up  against  you !     You  do  not  know 
the  meaning  of  a  nation  in  frenzy ! 
THE  KING :  What  would  you  have,  monk? 
SAVONAROLA :  I  would  recall  you  to  your  true  self.     You 
have  no  concern  with  Florence  ;  it  is  Naples  that  you  require — 
Naples  and  the  sea ;    and  beyond,  that  Imperial  Crown  for 
which  you  are  destined  by  Providence,  the  overthrow  of  the 
Turks,  the  destruction  of  the  infidel  and  the  proud  name  of 
Supreme  Head,  not  of  petty  Florence,  but  of  all  Christendom ! 
Risk  not,  risk  not,  sire,  for  a  paltry  fit  of  wrath,  the  loss  of  the 
rank  which  God  reserves  for  you,  and  the  glorious  treasures 
which  He  heaps  on  your  head !     Go  where  your  unparalleled 
destiny  calls  you !     Rob  not  of  its  liberties  a  poor  little  country 
that  loves  you ;   do  not,  like  David,  take  away  a  poor  man's 
ewe  lamb,  when  flocks,  vast  and  splendid,  fall  to  your  share! 
Beware  of  that !     It  is  you  who,  with  an  all-powerful  hand, 
must  reform  the  Church  as  a  whole !     Leave  petty  affairs, 
busy  yourself  with  great  matters,  and  do  not  act  so  that  you 
become  one  day  a  Saul,  the  spurned  of  God ! 
THE  KING :  This  man  speaks  as  if  he  were  certain  of  what 
he  is  saying.     Are  you  sure,  shall  I  be  Emperor  of  the  East  ? 
SAVONAROLA:  Who  was  it  that  four  years  ago  foretold 
that  you  would  descend  upon  us  and  be  irresistible  ?     Who 
revealed  the  fall  of  the  Aragonese  and  your  entry  into  Rome  ? 
THE  KING :  Yes,  I  shall  enter  Rome  ;  you  speak  true. 
SAVONAROLA:  Go,  then,  sire,  and  lose  no  time. 

Enter  an  officer 

OFFICER:  If  the  Florentine  magistrates  do  not  intervene 


SAVONAROLA 

at  once,  we  shall  be  shut  up  in  this  palace.     The  streets  are 

filled  with  armed  citizens,  mad  with  evil  passion. 

CAPPONI  (to  his  colleagues) :  With  the  King's  order,  let  us 

come  and  prevent  a  terrible  disaster. 

DE  BOURDILLON:  Sire,  I  think  we  shall  have  to  yield; 

we  really  have  no  place  in  this  town.     We  shall  take  our 

revenge  later  on. 

THE  KING:  You  think  so? 

SAVONAROLA    (at   the    King's    ear):    Beware,   sire,   the 

heavenly  troops  of  angels  are  coming  down  against  you  from 

on  high ! 

THE  KING  (to  Capponi) :  Will  you  hold  to  your  terms? 

CAPPONT  :  The  money  shall  be  paid  to  you  this  instant. 

TPIE  KING  (to  his  retinue) :  To  horse,  gentlemen !     Our  love 

of  Florence  is  distracting  us    from  our   affairs.     This  very 

evening  we  shall  be  on  the  road  to  Naples.     M.  de  Piennes, 

you  will  command  the  vanguard,  and  the  skirmishers  must 

leave  immediately. 

FLORENTINES:  Long  live  the  King! 


A  gate  of  the  city. — Assemblage  of  the  people, 

A  CITIZEN :  At  last,  we  see  no  more  than  the  tail-end  of 
their  stragglers !  They  have  gone,  those  accursed  French ! 
May  the  devil  keep  them  to  himself!  If  it  be  not  Fra 
Girolamo  who  delivers  us  from  them,  who  is  it,  pray? 
A  TAILOR:  He  spoke  up  stoutly  to  the  King  and  gave  him 
a  piece  of  his  mind. 

A  LOCKSMITH :  He  said  it  all  to  him  just  as  I  say  "  good- 
morning"  to  you,  and  the  poor  devil  was  mortally  afraid. 
A  MASON  :  Fra  Girolamo  is  a  prophet  of  God ! 
THE  CROWD :  If  anyone  doubts  it,  we'll  rip  his  guts  out ! 
Kill  him,   kill  the  villainous  hound !     Long  live    Girolamo ! 
Long  live  the  prophet  of  God ! 


31 


THE    REiNAlSSANCE 

Near  the  Venetian  frontier. — A  camp  of  six  thousand  Venetian  adventurers. 
A  wide  plain,  fertile,  covered  with  trees,  vines  and  wheat  ;  on  the 
horizon,  villages  ;  a  river  flows  through  the  midst,  and  the  soldiers' 
tents  line  its  banks.  On  the  slope  of  the  river-bank,  a  wooden  booth, 
witli  green  festoons,  where  drinks  are  sold.  Ortlerlies  pass,  leading 
their  horses  to  the  drinking-trough;  men-at-arms,  archers,  cross-bow- 
men, halberdiers,  pikesmen,  peasant  men  and  women,  courtesans, 
beggars  ;  some  walking,  others  quarrelling  ;  many  are  seated  before  tlie 
tavern,  chatting,  laughing,  playing  at  dice  and  cards. 

A  MAN-AT-ARMS  :  Hurrah  for  love !  I  am  leaving  the 
company  of  Alessandro  del  Tiaro,  and  entering  the  service  of 
II  Scariotto.  To  the  devil  with  my  first  captain,  the  skinflint ! 
You  die  of  hunger  in  his  troop ! 

A  CROSS-BOWMAN  :  I  know  him !  I  have  served  under 
him  !  The  brute  has  nothing  but  rough  words  for  the  soldier ! 
A  TRUMPETER:  True.  Now,  Battista  di  Valmontone— 
there's  an  honest  condottiere  ! 

A  PEASANT  (cap  in  hand) :  Most  noble  signors,  I  am  a 
poor  man. 

A  PIKE SM AN  :  It  v^^ould  be  better  if  you  were  rich  and  could 
wager  two  good  ducats  with  me  on  the  throw  of  the  dice. 
PEASANT :  Pardon  me,  most  noble  signor  pikesman,  I  swear 
it  to  you  by  the  Madonna  and  the  Child !  I  am  a  very  poor 
man,  reduced  to  the  most  v/oful  pitch  of  distress,  and  I  have 
also  just  lost  my  last  cow,  which  two  honourable  light  horse- 
men have  carried  off  from  me. 

A  DRUMMER :  I  know  that  man's  face.  He  wanders  about 
all  the  camps — he  has  always  lost  his  last  cow ;  it's  his 
profession. 

MAN-AT-ARMS :  How  much  do  you  earn  at  this,  taking  one 
year  with  another? 

The  peasant  goes  off,  putting  on  his  cap  again. 

A  CROSS-BOWMAN :  They  say  that  the  soldier  robs  the 
native  ;  I  tell  you  that  in  the  long  run,  with  their  inns  and 
their  damaged  wares,  their  gaming-houses  and  brothels,  their 
everlasting  pleas  and  claims,  it's  the  natives  who  strip  the  poor 
soldier  of  his  last  shirt  and  make  him  die  on  the  straw. 
A  TRU^IPETER  :  My  word,  you're  right!     But  who  is  this 

32 


SAVONAROLA 

coming  to  us  all  in  velvet,  silk  and  lace,  a  feather  in  his  cap, 
his  nose  in  the  air,  his  hand  on  his  hip,  stiff  as  a  poker  ?  ,  Egad, 
what  a  roystering  blade !  And  it  has  only  three  fair  hairs  on 
its  lip  and  is  no  more  than  eighteen ! 

NEWCOMER:  Noble  warriors,  I  salute  you  and  am  burning 
with  desire  to  make  your  acquaintance. 

MAN-AT-AR^IS  :  We  shall  willingly  make  yours  when  you 
have  told  us  where  you  come  from. 

NEWCOMER :  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  am  an 
Ordelaffe  of  Forli,  cousin  of  Signor  Antonio,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, a  gentleman,  which  most  of  you  are  very  far  from 
being.  As  a  lover  of  glory,  consumed  with  the  loftiest 
ambitions,  I  come  to  enrol  myself  in  my  kinsman's  troops,  and 
I  request  your  friendship  in  exchange  for  mine. 
CROSS-BOWMAN  :  If  I  had  a  ftne  enough  coat  to  my  back 
I  should  turn  merchant  or  priest ;  but  from  mere  lightness  of 
heart,  I  certainly  should  not  think  of  wedding  the  halberd, 
hunger,  thirst,  cold,  heat  and  sleepless  nights. 
NEWCOMER  :  My  good  friend,  you  were  no  doubt  begotten 
by  some  rustic  clod,  and  the  baseness  of  }-our  aspirations  is 
quite  natural.  As  for  me,  I  feel  myself  to  be  of  the  race  of 
falcons ;  I  love  the  open  air,  noise,  shouting ;  neither  rain  nor 
storm  frighten  me,  and  if  the  Sforzas  and  so  many  others 
have  become  princes,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  not  have 
the  same  good  fortune. 

PIKESMAN  :  Pox !  what  a  brave  lad  !  Have  you  a  doubloon 
in  your  pocket  ?  A  sequin  ?  .  .  .  A  coin  of  any  sort  ?  Let's 
have  a  round  of  cards,  and  then  I'll  take  you  to  Don  Agostino, 
of  Campo  Fregoso,  who's  a  better  man  than  your  cousin. 
NEWCOMER:  You're  jesting,  you  old  dog!  I  have  fifty 
German  florins  in  my  pocket.  Three  rounds  of  basset,  eh  ? 
DRUMMER:  Tliere's  no  doubt  he's  an  honest  fellow! 
Cards,  cards ! 

A  GIRL  (to  her  companion):  They  are  going  to  fleece  him. 
It  doesn't  matter.  Let  us  not  lose  sight  of  this  pigeon.  Wc 
will  help  him  to-morrow  to  spend  the  price  of  his  enlistment. 

G  2  33 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

HER  COiMPANION  :  Beware  of  him.  He  has  a  wicked  eye 
and  a  deft  hand.  His  knife  doesn't  stick  very  fast  to  its 
sheath,  I'll  warrant. 


On  the  border  of  the  camp,  in  the  luidst  of  a  tine  garden  full  of  Uowers  and 
planted  with  cypresses,  a  Uttle  palace  built  in  the  latest  style,  with 
foUage,  arcades,  double  rows  of  columns,  statues,  a  flat  roof  and  a 
loggia  borne  on  terra-cotla  figures  of  satyrs. — A  hall  elegantly  painted 
and  furnished,  coffers  inlaid  with  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl,  ebony 
cupboards  with  statuettes,  Venetian  glasses,  great  divans. — Near 
one  of  the  windows,  turned  so  as  to  receive  the  best  light,  a  picture 
set  upon  an  easel. — Signor  Deifobo  dell'  Anguillara,  captain-general 
of  the  free-lances  ;  Captain  Don  Sigisniondo  di  BrandoUno  ;  the  Nea- 
politan poet  Cariteo. 

ANGUILLARA:    Now,    Signor    Cariteo,  you  who  a  great 

connoisseur,  a  great  virtuoso  in  matters  of  art,  what  do  you 

think  of  this  picture? 

CARITEO  :  It  is  by  Barbarelli,  if  I  am  not  mistaken! 

ANGUILLARA:   Good  shot!     It's  by  Giorgione,  and  one 

of  his  best,  on  my  life !     But  I  don't  wish  to  influence  you,  .  .  . 

give  your  candid  opinion  ! 

CARITEO  :  It  is  a  splendid  painting! 

ANGUILLARA  :  I  am  very  glad  you  think  so.     This  treasure 

has  come  this  very  moment,  and  they  have  just  unpacked  it. 

CARITEO:     Marvellous!      Marv^ellous,    I    tell    you!      The 

fascination   of  colour  could  go  no  further!     What  is  more, 

there  is,  as  it  were,  a  charming  reflection  of  the  manner  of 

da   Vinci.     Then,   to   come    to   essentials,   what   originality ! 

What  sincerity!     What  fire!     There's  a  man  for  you,  that 

Giorgione — one  of  the  glories  of  our  age! 

BRANDOLINO:    All   the   same,    I    prefer   the   Florentine 

painters  to  the  Venetian ;  their  design  is  far  more  severe,  and 

there  is  a  masculine  touch  about  their  work  that  delights  me. 

CARITEO :   Believe  me,   Giorgione   and   Bellini  are  divine 

beings !     Am  I  allowed  to  observe  here  that  my  lord  Deifobo 

did  not  wish  the  artist  to  go  and  contemplate  in  heaven  the 

incomparable  original  of  this  Juno?  .  .  .  He  showed  her  to 

him  on  earth. 

34 


SAVONAROLA 

ANGUILLARA  (smiling)  :  You're  a  tell-tale,  and  that's  a 
crime  which  the  ladies  do  not  forgive.  .  .  .  Speaking  seriously, 
you  recognise  the  likeness  ? 

CARITEO  :  Yes,  I  do,  although  the  genius  of  the  painter  is 
far  from  equal  to  the  unimaginable  perfections  of  the  model. 
ANGUILLARA :  To  be  sure,  the  model  is  not  bad. 
BRANDOLINO  :  Signor  Deifobo  is  lucky  in  every  respect 
CAPTAIN  BARTOLOAIMEO  FALCIERA  (on  the  thres- 
hold) :  May  I  speak  to  you,  my  Lord  ? 

ANGUILLARA:  What  do  you  want?  I  am  busy,  captain. 
Still,  come  in.     What  is  it  ? 

FALCIERA:  On  the  accusation  of  some  wretched  peasants, 
one  of  my  best  cavaliers  has  been  arrested  by  the  provosts, 
and  rumour  has  it  that  you  have  ordered  him  to  be  hanged. 
ANGUILLARA  :  I  know  all  about  it.  Your  cavalier  shall  be 
hanged.  I  am  sorry  on  your  account,  but  he  shall  be  hanged. 
FALCIERA :  But  consider,  my  lord,  the  losses  you  are 
causing  me.  For  four  years  I  have  been  shaping  this  man, 
paying  all  his  expenses  ;  he  is  a  stout  fellow  and  a  skilled  man- 
at-arms  ;  of  course  I  have  made  him  advances,  and  he  owes 
ma  not  less  than  fifteen  ducats.  I  shall  lose  them. 
ANGUILLARA :  It  is  very  annoying,  I  admit ;  but  I  will 
not  have  the  country  folk  ill-treated,  and  he  who  does  so  is 
hanged.  This  is  my  rule,  and  I  shall  not  depart  from  it.  That 
idiot  of  yours  goes  quietly  roasting  the  right  leg  of  a  villager 
from  the  neighbourhood,  and  promises  him  as  much  for  his 
left  leg,  if  he  does  not  hand  over  his  money.  (Laughter.) 
It's  the  greatest  nonsense  on  earth !  Are  we  in  Germany,  or 
France,  or  even  at  Naples?  In  that  case  it  would  be 
very  different,  I  could  wink  at  it  out  of  regard  for  you, 
and  what  is  more,  it  would  not  be  worth  while  to  take 
umbrage.  But,  devil  take  it!  We  are  in  Italy,  and  if 
the  adventurers  treat  labouring  men  in  this  fashion,  v^^e  shall 
soon  be  exposed  to  famine,  and  they'll  fall  upon  us  as  if  we 
were  wild  beasts.     I  dislike  these  evil  practices — they  must  be 

3.'; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

given  up.     Wo  ply  our  trade  ;  let  us  do  so  quietl)'  and  without 

molesting  others  who  ply  theirs.     Your  man  shall  be  hanged. 

FALCIERA:  My  luck  is  out!     At  our  last  brush  with  the 

Venetians,  I  had  one  of  my  dragoons  down,  and  he  died  of  it. 

ANGUILLARA :  Did  the  enemy  take  the  liberty  of  killing 

him,  by  any  chance  ? 

FALCIERA:  Ye  gods,  no!     The  lads  of  the  other  side,  on 

the  contra r}',  helped  us  to  pick  up  our  corpse  :  they  were  the 

troops  of  Captain  Ercole  Bentivoglio.     The  poor  devil  simply 

had  an  apoplectic  stroke  caused  by  the  heat  and  the  weight  of 

his  armour. 

ANGUILLARA:  It  can't  be  helped;   but  console  yourself, 

Captain  Falciera.     From  time  to  time  we  must  endure  the 

blows  of  adversity,  and  Seneca  would  tell  you  so  in  fmer 

language  than  I.     Sit  down  all  the  same  and  take  a  glass  of 

this  light  wine  of  Friuli,  which  is  really  not  at  all  bad. 

FALCIERA  (with  a  sigh):  To  your  health,  noble  Signor! 

Enter  Messer  Vincenzo  Quirini,  \'enetian  senator,  richly  dressed  in 
a  robe  of  red  brocade  with  great  green  and  yellow  stripes,  a  golden 
chain  about  his  neck,  and  in  his  hands  his  biretta  of  black  velvet 
trimmed  with  a  string  of  big  pearls  ;  a  handsome  face,  very 
swarthy,  short  black  hair,  curly  black  beard,  earrings  set  with 
rubies. 

QUIRINI  (to  Anguillara) :  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  see  you! 
God  guard  you,  my  illustrious  friend !  Allow  me  to  embrace 
you! 

ANGUILLARA  (running  to  him  and  pressing  him  to  his 
heart) :    What !    is    it   you  ?     Ah !    Signor   Vincenzo !     What 
felicity  .  .  .  my  noble,  my  illustrious  comrade  in  arms ! 
QUIRINI  :  With  all  my  heart  I  salute  Signor  Cariteo  and  the 
most  excellent  gentlemen  whom  I  see.     To  be  brief,  the  most 
serene  Signiory  sends  me  to  you  as  envoy.     We  should  be 
glad  to  know  if  you  would  enter  our  pay. 
ANGUILLARA:    My    engagement    with    the    Aragonese 
expires  in  a  month.     Hov.-  much  do  you  offer  me  ? 
QUIRINI :  Twelve  thousand  ducats  a  month,  ready  money. 
ANGUILLAR.^:  We  shall  not  come  to  terms  at  that  figure. 

3"^ 


SAVONAROLA 

I  have  forly  thousand  at  this  moment,  and  I  have  still  better 
offers  from  Signer  Sforza  and  from  the  French.  Don 
Francesco  Sanseverino  came  in  person  to  convey  them  to  me. 
Your  position  is  this :  if  you  want  me,  pay  what  I  demand  ;  if 
you  do  not,  I  shall  go  elsewhere.  Meanwhile,  pray  be  seated. 
QUIRINI:  What  a  charming  picture!  .  .  .  Juno  embracing 
Jupiter.  .  .  .  Admirable !  .  .  .  A  Giorgione,  plainly !  He 
alone  is  capable  of  such  a  masterpiece.  But,  wait  a  minute. 
...  I  fancy  it  is  the  portrait  of  .  .  .  Congratulations,  Signer 
Jupiter !  .  .  .  Well,  my  friend,  if  you  came  to  us,  I  for  my 
part  should  be  extremely  glad ;  but  your  interests  before 
everything — that  is  a  matter  of  course.  We  shall  always  find 
condottieri,  doubtless  less  renowned,  but  more  accommodating. 
ANGUILLARA  :  At  the  price  you  name,  you  will  not  get 
any  captain  of  note  ;  neither  the  Cardinal  di  'Capua,  nor 
Gattamelata  the  IVIagnificent,  nor  the  Colleoni,  nor  the 
Piccinino,  nor  dal  Verme,  but  fighting  men  of  an  inferior  stamp. 
But  as  you  please  !  Remember,  however,  that  cheap  wares  are 
the  ruin  of  their  purchaser.  I  had  already  ten  steel  bombards  ; 
I  have  just  bought  six  more,  and  they  were  delivered  to  me 
yesterday.  Two  are  the  invention  of  young  Michael  Angelo 
Buonarotti.  They  shoot  stones  eight  times  as  big  as  your 
head,  and  with  a  range  of  perhaps  four  hundred  paces !  I  am 
not  exaggerating. 

BRANDOLINO  :  It  is  absolutely  true,  I  saw  the  tests  and 
was  terrified. 

ANGUILLARA :  No  companies  possess  artillery  that  can  be 
compared  with  mine  ;  for  I  have  only  spoken  of  bombards,  and 
I  have  a  host  of  culverins,  cannon  and  squibs,  worked  by 
Germans  who  cost  me  each  sixteen  florins  a  month,  exclusive 
of  perquisites  ;  but  let  us  omit  these  details — I  have  no  wish 
to  dazzle  you  with  them.  I  have  two  thousand  men-at-arms 
thoroughly  trained  and  fully  equipped,  a  thousand  admirable 
Albanian  mercenaries,  and  four  thousand  foot,  picked  infantry- 
men all.  It  seems  to  me  that  in  asking  for  sixteen  thousand 
ducats  I  am  not  asking  too  much. 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

OUIRINI:  Certainly  .  .  .  certainly  .  .  .  and  we  should  even 

give  }'0u  the  sum  }-ou  desire  without  too  much  hesitation,  were 

it  not  that  slanderous  tongues  tax  you  with  never  letting  your 

troops  fight,  for  fear  of  damaging  them. 

ANGUILLARA  (emphatically):    My  view,  like  that  of  all 

genuine  soldiers,  is  to  win  battles  and  decide  campaigns  by 

manoeuvring.     I  have  no  wish  to  massacre  men  unnecessarily. 

Such  a  principle  is  as  clear  as  cr}stal !    What  folly,  v^'hat  savage 

cruelty  to  let  poor  devils  of  soldiers  be  killed  or  wounded  for 

the  mere  pleasure  of  hitting  at  a  venture !     Good  enough  for 

Swiss,    Frenchmen,   Spaniards  .  .  .  barbarians  all !     We  are 

Italians ! 

OUIRINI :  Unfortunately  these  barbarians  attack  with  might 

and  main,  and  at  that  game  they  are  bound  to  end  by  winning 

the  day. 

ANGUILLARA :    As  long  as  I  live,  I  shall  conduct  war 

according  to  rules. 

QUIRINI :  What  think  you  of  our  discussion,  most  illustrious 

Signor  poet,  you  who  eternally  portray  us  the  god  Mars  raging 

amid  the  bleeding  battalions? 

CARITEO  :  Ever}'  age  has  its  fashions,  and  poets  generally 

imagine  what  does  not  fit  in  with  real  life. 

ANGUILLARA :     An    excellent    answer !     Besides,    dear 

Signor  Vincenzo,  ask  your  Alviane,  who  seems  wedded  to  the 

most  serene  Republic,  since  he  serves  no  other  power ;  he  will 

tell  youi  whether  he  cares  to  sacrifice  his  men  without  reason. 

All  the  same,  there's  an  honest  fellow  for  you ! 

QUIRINI :   We  refuse  him  neither  honour  nor  money ;   we 

have  given  him  the  town  and  territory  of  Pordenone.  .  .  . 

ANGUILLARA :   He  has  made  a  paradise  of  it.     You  see 

none  there  but  artists,  men  of  letters,  people  of  talent ;   his 

academy  is  famed  far  and  wide.     Put  me  in  a  position  to  lead 

as  refined  and  exalted  a  life,  and  I  will  serve  you  as  well  as  he. 

QUIRINI :  You  would  promise  to  stand  firm  when  occasion 

demanded  it,  even  if  it  should  cost  you  some  lives  ? 

38 


SAVONAROLA 

ANGUILLARA:  Let  us  be  completely  frank!  .  .  .  Against 
other  condottieri,  never !  It  would  be  fine,  honourable,  loyal, 
to  inflict  losses  on  a  comrade  who  might  the  next  day  over- 
throw my  troops  and  with  whom  I  might  hereafter  find  myself 
under  the  same  flag  under  fresh  enlistments!  Never,  I  tell 
you!  But  barbarians  who  show  no  consideration,  I  will 
attack  with  all  my  heart,  and  you  will  not  refuse  to  indemnify 
me,  so  much  for  each  man  slain,  so  much  for  each  man 
wounded,  so  much  for  each  horse,  taking  into  account  loss  of 
baggage.  .  .  .  Does  that  suit  you  ? 

QUIRINI  :  We  are  beginning  to  understand  each  other. 
ANGUILLARA  :  Then  we  can  draw  up  the  agreement.  That 
will  be  to-morrow  morning,  if  you  please,  and  for  the  moment, 
will  you  sup  with  us  ? 

BRANDOLINI :   I  notify  that  La  Morella  is  here. 
QUIRINI:   Really. 

ANGUILLARA  :  Bravo !  How  the  fire  leaps  to  his  cheeks! 
QUIRINI :  But  your  camp,  my  dear  friend,  is  at  once  an 
Athens  and  an  Amathus* ! 

BRANDOLINI :     Moreover    we    have    musicians    of    most 
uncommon  merit,  and  that  incomparable  dancer  Gian  Pagolo. 
And  Signor  Cariteo  and  Serafino  Aquilino  are  going  to  read 
to  us  their  latest  poems. 
ANGUILLARA:   Come,  to  table! 

QUIRINI  :  One  word  more,  I  beg!  If  we  manage  to  agree 
as  to  the  engagement,  and  you  enter  the  service  of  the 
Republic,  your  troops  will  not  harry  the  peasantry  overmuch  ? 
ANGUILLARA :  I  keep  strict  discipline,  you  may  rely  on 
that.  Ask  the  Captain  here,  Messer  Bartolommeo  Falciera, 
what  he  thinks  of  my  discipline.  Lie  has  just  had  a  taste  of  it. 
QUIRINI :  We  make  a  great  point  of  that ;  it  is  worth  gold. 
ANGUILLARA:  Enough  of  business  for  to-day — let  us 
think  now  only  of  amusement.     Come  to  supper ! 

•  A  town  in  ancient  Cyprus  devoted  to  the  worship  of  Venus. — Tr. 

39 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


VENICE. 

A  chamber  in  the  Dvike's  palace. — The  three  State  Inquisitors  sitting. — 
A  table  covered  with  letters  and  papers. 


FIRST  INQUISITOR  (^letter  in  his  hands) :  This  is  the  news. 
The  French,  after  their  insolent  triumph  at  Rome  and  Naples, 
have  left  the  latter  city  in  a  state  of  utmost  disorder.  No 
reason  or  restraint  or  foresight !  The  Aragonese  are  chasing 
them  ;  the  Papal  troops  are  harassing  them.  They  go  by  full 
day's  marches  without  stopping,  and  are  striving  to  reach  and 
cross  the  Apennines. 

SECOND  INQUISITOR  :  It  was  decided  yesterday  that  we 
should  abandon  neutrality.  Has  the  order  to  attack  gone 
forth  ?  Is  our  army  in  good  condition  for  fighting  ? 
THIRD  INQUISITOR:  Here  are  the  last  reports  of  the 
most  illustrious  Provveditori,  and  of  our  General,  the  Marquis 
of  Mantua ;  then  the  Senator,  Messer  Vincenzo  Quirini, 
announces  to  us  that  he  has  come  to  terms  with  the  Count 
deir  Anguillara.  Thus  we  have  forty  thousand  men,  and  {he 
French  are  at  most  seven  thousand. 

SECOND  INQUISITOR:  If  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola 
harboured  a  little  wisdom  in  his  rhetorical  head,  it  would  not 
be  hard  for  him  to  dig  before  the  enemy  such  a  trench  as 
they  could  not  cross ;  but  instead  of  thinking  of  affairs,  he 
dreams  of  moral  reform  ! 

FIRST  INQUISITOR:  I  have  received  a  note  from  the 
head  of  the  arsenal  at  Padua.  The  last  consignments  of 
stores  for  our  troops  have  left.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  the 
general  equipment.  The  provisions  are  abundant. 
SECOND  INQUISITOR:  We  can  have  every  hope.  It  is 
now  important  to  think  wliat  we  shall  do  after  an  almost  certain 

40 


SAVONAROLA 

victor}'.  Shall  we  restore  to  our  ally,  the  Duke  of  Milan,  those 
fortresses  of  his  which  we  occupy  ? 

FIRST  INQUISITOR:  Let  us  not  even  think  of  it.  No 
THIRD  INQUISITOR:  It  is  here  that  the  help  of  the 
Florentines  would  be  precious  to  us. 

profitable  alliance  has  ever  been  made  with  a  popular  govern- 
ment. Let  us  reckon  on  none  but  ourselves,  and  let  us  be 
resolved  beforehand  to  restore  nothing  to  Ludovico.  Do  you 
not  think  it  would  be  well  to  advise  the  illustrious  Provveditori 
of  our  resolutions  ? 

THIRD  INQUISITOR:    Assuredly. 

SECOND  INQUISITOR:  Naturally  I  incline  to  your 
opinion.  We  shall  inform  the  most  serene  Prince  and  the 
Ten  of  the  Council's  opinion.     Let  us  turn  to  other  matters. 


FLORENCE. 

Signer  Vespuccio's  house. — Vespuccio,  Marsilio  Ficino,  translator  of  Plato  ; 
the  painter  Baccio  della  Porta,  Francesco  Valori,  Niccolo  Machiavelli. 

VESPUCCIO  :  The  French  have  managed  things  so  badly 
that  they  are  now  driven  out  of  Naples,  threatened  so 
dangerously  in  the  Romagna  that  M.  d'Aubigny  is  forced  to 
evacuate  that  province,  and  the  Duke  of  Milan  has  found  no 
difficulty  in  raising  troops  against  them— he  who  first  called 
them  in. 

VALORI  :  All  to  the  good  of  our  cause !  The  French,  if 
secure  at  Najjles,  would  have  wished  to  show  us  their  resent- 
ment at  the  way  in  which  Messer  Gino  Capponi  gave  them 
their  dismissal.  Now  that  they  are  beaten,  these  doubtful 
friends  will  be  more  amenable  ;  they  will  give  us  back  Pisa, 
which  hitherto  ihcv  have  always  refused  to  do. 

41 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MArHIAVELLI :  Whether  they  do  so  or  no,  I  should  not 
care  to  predict  anything-,  for  their  King  is  a  feather-brain,  and 
his  inspirations  come  to  him  from  every  wind  that  blows.  But 
I  am  not  satisfied  witli  our  position  at  home. 
VALORI :  Why  so,  pray,  Messer  Niccolo?  The  government 
of  the  people  is  well-established  ;  the  results  of  the  last  elec- 
tions were  admirable ;  our  magistrates  are  men  of  firmness 
and  moderation,  and,  in  spite  of  the  seven  years  it  has  lasted, 
Fra  Girolamo's  reputation  with  our  populace  seems  all  the 
younger — it  has  all  the  savour  and  all  the  credit  of  novelty. 
I  consider  that  things  are  going  as  well  as  they  can. 
VESPUCCIO  :  And  they  are  bound  to  go  well,  if  only  because 
we  no  longer  have  the  Medici.  I  am  ready  to  face  every  con- 
ceivable misfortune  save  that  of  seeing  their  family  re-establish 
its  detestable  influence. 

VALORI  :  There  can  be  no  question  about  that. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  only  wish  I  could  share  your  opinion, 
but  I  do  not  look  on  affairs  in  so  favourable  a  light.  We 
want  a  Republic  that  is  democratic  and  stable,  where  every- 
one works  and  enjoys  a  well-balanced  liberty.  To  obtain  such 
a  result,  I  agree  with  Signor  Vespuccio  ;  we  do  not  need  the 
influence  of  those  powerful  families  which  weigh  down  one 
side  of  the  scales  and  make  it  sink  too  low.  On  this  score 
I,  above  all,  reject  the  Medici.  Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  our 
government  works  on  springs  a  trifle  too  stiff,  hard  and  taut, 
which  will  lead  to  troublesome  explosions. 
VESPUCCIO:  Why?  Because  Piero's  creatures  are  roughly 
handled  ?  Where  is  the  harm  ?  Nay,  it  is  a  necessity  ;  they 
do  rightly  in  punishing  these  folk,  so  as  to  show  that  it  is  not 
well  to  follow  their  example.  You  hold  that  Fra  Girolamo's 
partisans  carry  their  zeal  too  far  ?  True,  perhaps  ;  their  ways 
of  preaching  virtue  and  causing  it  to  be  practised  are  not  always 
courteous ;    but,  deuce  take  it !  you  cannot  make  omelettes 

42 


SAVONAROLA 

without  breaking  eggs.  Fra  Girolamo  himself  beheves  a 
httle  too  seriously  in  what  he  says,  and  between  you  and 
me,  a  smile  comes  to  my  lips  rather  often  when  I  see  him 
vehemently  declaim  against  some  human  weakness  or  other 
which  is  not  worth  all  the  uproar  he  makes.  But  what  do  you 
expect .'  We  have  need  of  him ;  if  the  masses  of  Florence 
and  the  heated  enthusiasts  did  not  imagine  that  the  good 
Frate  was  opening  the  gates  of  paradise  and  reforming  the 
world,  do  you  suppose  that  the  mere  love  of  good  government 
would  keep  them  on  our  side  ?  More  than  one  of  them  would 
care  but  little  for  the  welfare  we  are  securing  him,  and  would 
infinitely  prefer  the  idleness  of  a  vicious  hanger-on  of  the 
Medici  to  the  wise  and  well-ordered  life  of  a  respectable 
citizen. 

VALORI :  I  have  a  higher  opinion  of  our  fellow-citizens, 
Messer  Vespuccio,  and  I  take  it  for  granted  that  the  greater 
part  of  mankind  are  virtuous  by  nature,  and  willing  to  follow 
the  right  path  when  it  is  pointed  out. 

FICINO  :  For  my  part,  if  I  am  allowed  to  state  my  view,  I 
am  deeply  moved  and  affected  by  the  universal  effort  which 
raises  a  whole  people  towards  the  enchanted  spheres  of  the 
Good  and  the  Beautiful.  What  can  be  more  admirable  than  to 
see  all  the  noble  passions  leagued  against  the  evil  ones,  and 
the  churches  always  full,  while  the  taverns  are  empty! 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  am  like  you,  that  is  to  say,  I  observe 
with  extreme  interest  the  debates  of  the  Councils,  while  at 
the  same  time  the  excellent  administrative  measures  give  me 
the  impression  of  an  activity  well  directed  in  theory.  Flow- 
ever,  I  do  not  know  whether  this  situation  can  last. 
VESPUCCIO  :  Why,  pray,  do  you  feel  these  doubts? 
MACHIAVELLI :  There  is  too  much  outward  calm  and  too 
little  inner  repose.  Those  who  are  satisfied  are  satisfied 
either  too  passionately,  like  Signor  Vespuccio,  or  too  systemati- 
cally, like  Signor  Valori. 

43 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

\'ESPUCCIO  :  For  myself,  as  is  well  known,  I  hate  the 
Medici,  and  the  moment  that  their  happiness  declines  mine  is 
in  the  ascendant ;  nothing  could  be  more  natural. 
VALORI :  I  assure  you,  Signor  Niccolo,  that,  taking  every- 
thing into  account,  and  guarding  against  the  exaggeration  of 
one's  desires,  there  are  good  grounds  for  satisfaction. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  would  rather  you  had  no  need  to  prove 
the  fact  to  yourself.  What  is  certain  is  that  under  their  mask 
the  parties  opposed  to  our  settlement  are  more  exasperated 
than  ever.  The  Arrabbiati,  for  the  last  few  weeks,  have  even 
openly  manifested  an  impudence  which  gives  me  food  for 
reflection ;  the  Palleschi  are  almost  on  the  point  of  avowing 
their  intention  of  bringing  back  the  heirs  of  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent ;  the  Compagnacci  raise  their  heads  and,  in  the 
open  street,  utter  their  coarse  insults  against  Era  Girolamo.  I 
notice  that  many  let  them  have  their  say  and  even  laugh  at 
their  sallies,  though  disapproving  of  them  all  the  while.  As 
for  the  Tepidi,  we  know  for  certain  that  they  are  making 
recruits  among  those  who  are  wearied  by  a  renunciation  of 
every  pleasure — somewhat  too  rigorous  a  discipline  for  the 
man  of  average  temperament.  Finally,  the  neighbouring 
governments,  the  Milanese,  the  Sienese,  and  others,  are 
frightened  by  the  exorcisms  of  our  saintly  preacher.  He  is 
charged  with  wishing  to  despoil  the  rich  for  the  benefit  of  the 
poor,  and  with  being  an  arch-demagogue.  Rome  is  a  party 
to  the  game,  and  multiplies  its  admonitions.  Only  yesterday 
there  came  one,  and  Fra  Girolamo  is  forbidden  to  continue 
preaching. 

VESPUCCIO :  It  is  a  most  feeble  prohibition,  and  Fra 
Girolamo  will  disregard  it  entirely.  What  are  your  conclusions  ? 
MACHIAVELLI :  We  ought,  perhaps,  to  demand  less  per- 
fection from  the  Florentines,  and  proceed  to  govern  them 
not  as  we  might  wish,  but  as  we  can. 

44 


SAVONAROLA 

DELLA  PORTA :    That  is  not  my  view.     The  important 

thing  is  to  maintain  a  good  sound  doctrine  ;   those  unwilHng 

to  submit  to  it  will  be  compelled.     However,  a  new  generation, 

which  will  have  the  proper  sentiments,  is  gradually  growing 

up,  and  the  future  holds  excellent  prospects.     It  is  of  the 

future  that  we  must  think. 

FICINO :  You  argue  like  a  true  philosopher.     I  am  in  entire 

agreement  with  Signor  Baccio. 

VESPUCCIO :  It  is  all  the  more  necessary  to  keep  things 

as  they  are,  because  we  are  thus  safe  in  treating  the  Medici 

and  their  adherents  without  remorse,  if  that  rabble  raise  their 

heads  ever  so  httle. 

VALORI :    Perhaps,    too,    there    would    be    drawbacks    in 

appearing  less  zealous  than  the  masses. 

MACHIAVELLI :  I  begin  to  be  no  longer  so  assured  of  our 

final  success.     A  straw  fire  is  a  fine  thing,  it  flares  up ;   but 

if  we  turn  our  heads  a  moment  and  look  again,  it  is  out. 


A  Hellenist's  house. — Study. — A  bust  of  Socrates  in  green  bronze.  Small 
tables  laden  with  books,  mostly  bound  in  parchment ;  a  quantity  of 
open  folios  on  the  big  table  ;  manuscripts,  papers  stained  with  ink 
and  covered  with  a  dchcate,  cramped  handwriting  ;  a  large  leaden 
inkstand,  pens  with  bristly  ends. — The  Hellenist  is  in  an  armchair 
with  carved  oak  back.  He  holds  an  open  volume  before  him,  on  the 
table.  His  two  elbows  are  placed  on  either  side  ;  his  head  rests  on 
his  hands  ;    he  reads  attentively  and  in  complete  absorption. 

MAIDSERVANT  (entering) :  Signor  Doctor!  .  .  .  the  hour 
of  the  sermon!     Don't  you  hear  the  bells?  ...  If  you  don't 
want  to  go  to  church,  say  so!     I  have  already  told  you  four 
times  !     Arc  you  deaf  ?     Ho,  Signor  Doctor ! 
HELLENIST  :  What  is  it,  child? 

45 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MAIDSERVANT:  The  sermon!  the  sermon!  the  sermon! 
Era  Girolamo  is  preaching  at  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore!  All  the 
Fathers  of  San  Marco  will  be  there !  And  the  Signiory !  and 
the  guilds  I  and  everybody !  The  sermon !  Do  you  under- 
stand ? 

HELLENIST  :  Oh,  the  sermon,  true — there  is  a  sermon.  .  . 
I  see  no  drawback  in  going  to  a  sermon. 
MAIDSERVANT:  No  drawback?  What  do  you  mean? 
You're  making  game  of  me !  If  you  don't  come  to  the  sermon, 
you  can  boil  your  soup  yourself.  I  shall  certainly  not  stay 
with  an  unbeliever. 

HELLENIST:  You  would  be  quite  right,  my  girl!  You're 
a  good  girl!  I  am  glad  to  see  such  feelings  in  you.  Go!  I 
shall  put  on  my  maroon  gown  and  follow  you. 
MAIDSERVANT :  Don't  lose  too  much  time ;  don't  begm 
musing  as  usual ;  you  won't  find  a  place.  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute ! 
Here  are  your  Horae ! 
HELLENIST :  I  tell  you  I  shall  be  there  before  you! 

Exit  maidservant. 

Hm!  Interrupted  in  the  study  of  this  difficult  passage  to 
go  and  hear  the  trash  with  which  they  regale  the  ears  of  the 
mob !  The  sense  of  this  most  important  phrase  depends 
entirely  on  the  syllable  on  which  we  put  the  accent !  .  .  .  The 
antepenultimate !  .  .  .  Yes,  the  antepenultimate,  I  quite 
understand,  but  then  .  .  .  we'll  see  ;  I  have  to  go  and  stupefy 
myself  with  this  Savonarola's  rubbish !  .  .  .  What  slavery ! 
Oh,  the  dullards !  Oh,  the  fanatics !  When  shall  we  be 
delivered  from  them,  ye  immortal  gods.  Muses  and 
Nymphs  ?  .  .  .  But  I  must  make  haste,  so  as  not  to  incur  the 
risk  of  persecution.  It's  a  wonder  already  that  the  police 
have  not  paid  me  a  visit !     When  will  this  tyranny  end  .-* 


46 


SAVONAROLA 

THE    APENXINES. 

A  wild  landscape  ;  moss-covered  rocks,  pines  stripped  and  flung  at  random  ; 
an  enormous  plain  at  the  foot  of  the  heights  ;  the  Taro  meandering 
through  the  plain  ;  the  village  of  Fomovo  in  the  distance. — French 
detachments  are  arrayed  in  battle-order  on  the  lowest  slopes  of  the 
mountain  ;  every  moment  there  pass  ordnance  companies,  bands  of 
Albanian  mercenaries,  Gascons,  Germans,  Swiss  ;  drivers  lead  pieces 
of  artillery  and  carriages  laden  with  baggage.  On  the  right,  at  some 
distance,  a  Venetian  outpost,  composed  of  Dalmatian  infantry  and 
some  Itahan  men-at-arms,  their  breastplates  gleaming  in  the  sun  ; 
most  have  their  visors  lowered,  and  all  stand,  with  lance  in  rest,  ready 
for  attack. — On  a  hillock  forming  an  elevated  plateau,  King  Charles 
VIII.  is  half  lying  down  amid  trusses  of  straw  ;  he  is  surrounded  by 
numerous  courtiers  and  captains  ;  among  them  are  to  be  distinguished 
Phihppe  de  Commines,  Lord  d'Argenton  ;  M.  Etienne  de  Vesc, 
Seneschal  of  Beaucaire  ;  'SI.  de  Bourdillon,  M.  de  Bonneval,  M.  de 
Piennes. 

THE  KING  :  I  have  promised  the  Pisans  my  protection — I 
shall  not  go  back  on  my  word  and  hand  these  people  over  to 
the  Florentines.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  it! 
Besides,  I  came  to  Italy  in  order  to  prove  myself  chivalrous 
and  please  my  lady,  and  not  to  write,  read  or  sign  musty 
papers  !  No  more  talk  of  negotiations,  please !  I  shall  attack 
the  enemy  within  an  hour! 

DE  COMMINES :  It  would  be  better  to  temporise  and  hsten 
to  reason.  If  we  do  not  induce  Savonarola  and  the  Florentines 
to  aid  us,  we  run  a  great  risk  of  never  getting  away  from 
here. 

THE  KING :  I  tell  you  I  have  performed  exploits  more 
brilliant  than  those  of  my  forbears !  I  have  conquered  Italy ! 
I  have  triumphed  at  Rome  and  at  Naples  before  the  eyes  of 
the  world !  Everywhere  I  have  planted  my  gibbets  and  my 
judges  ;  I  have  proclaimed  my  world-wide  sovereignity,  and 
that  only  a  few  days  ago.  If  I  now  go  back  to  France,  it 
is  merely  because  I  have  been  betrayed !  Let  these  wretched 
Federals  insult  me,  and,  by  my  blood  and  bones!  they'll  be 
playing  into  my  hands ! 

DE  COMMINES  :  I  implore  Your  Majesty  to  reflect  that, 
after  all,  to  speak  the  plain  truth,  we  are  beating  a  retreat  as  fast 
as  we  can.     We  shall  be  lucky  if  the  retreat  is  not  turned  into 


H 


47 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

a  rout,  for  that  is  what  faces  us  at  the  moment.     Remember 

that  the  enemy  outnumber  us  by  four  to  one ;  one  need  only 

open  one's  eyes  to  see  that !     1  therefore  think  it  essential 

to  listen  to  Savonarola's  proposals  and  to  restore  Pisa  to  the 

Florentines,  as  in  any  case  we  have  pledged  our  word  to  do. 

THE  KING  :  I  shall  listen  to  nothing !     Your  Florentines  are 

cowards,  cheats,  scoundrels.     I'll  grind  them  to  powder! 

DE  COIMMINES :  We  are  not  in  a  position  to  threaten. 

THE  KING:  You  are  always  afraid  of  everything! 

DE  COMMINES  :  We  might  at  least  be  prudent.  Before  us  is 

the  army  of  the  Venetians  and  of  that  same  Duke  of  Milan 

who  invited  us  here ;  behind  us  the  troops  of  the  Pope,  and 

the  Aragonese  in  pursuit ;   we  are  much  in  need  of  someone 

who  will  help  us. 

THE  KING:  Our  swords  will  suffice!     My  fleet  is  certain 

to  have  re-taken  Genoa  by  now. 

DE  COMMINES :  I  regret  to  inform  Your  Majesty  that  the 

fleet  has  just  been  defeated  at  Rapallo.     A  great  number  of 

galleons,   galleasses,   galleys,   store-ships   and   frigates    were 

destroyed  or  taken  ;  the  remainder  fled,  it  is  not  known  where. 

THE  KING :  We  shall  not  be  beaten  at  Fornovo,  I  give  you 

my  word.     Order  the  artillery  to  advance !     Here  is  Seigneur 

de  Gie. 

MARSHAL   DE   GIE  (on  horseback,  in  armour,  sword  in 

hand,  with  officers  of  his  staff) :  I  salute  Your  Majesty  and 

come  to  take  my  orders. 

THE  KING:  What  is  the  enemy  doing? 

MARSHAL :  Seeing  themselves  so  strong  and  us  so  weak, 

they  are  marching  in  fine  order.     They  are  known  to  possess 

two    thousand     five     hundred     fully-equipped     lancers,     two 

thousand  Albanian  mercenaries  and  sufficient  infantrymen  to 

amount  to  sixteen  thousand  men. 

THE  KING  :  Monseigneur  de  Gie,  you  are  a  doughty  knight! 

I  rely  upon  you.     In  fighting  I  shall  try  to  be  of  some  use  ;  in 

commanding  I  am  useless ;  give  orders,  take  your  dispositions 

at  your  own  good  pleasure.     I  shall  be  the  first  to  obey. 

48 


SAVONAROLA 

MARSHAL :  We  shall  do  our  best. 
THE  KING :  Ho !  Squires,  my  arms  ! 

The  squires  fasten  on  the  I-Cing's  helmet  and  make  certain  that  the 
difierent  parts  of  his  armour  are  properly  fixed  ;  his  armoured 
charger  is  brought.  He  leaps  into  the  saddle.  To  the  knights, 
captains,  and  soldiers  surrounding  him  : — 

Go,  gentlemen,  to  your  places,  and  let  every  man  do  his  best ! 

He  gallops  off  with  his  suite. 

DE  COMiMLXES :  A  deal  of  honour  and  no  brains !     What 

think  you  of  our  position,  Monseigneur  de  Gie  ? 

MARSHAL  :    In  the  moment  of  action  I  think  of  striking 

hard — nothing  else  matters.     At  the  gallop,  gentlemen ! 

Exit  with  his  suite. 

DE  COMMINES :  If  the  late  king,  from  his  place  in  blessed 

paradise,  can  see  the  muddle  made  by  his  successor,  he  must 

be  sorely  distressed.     It  is  all  over  with  us.     That  spoilt  child 

will  be  a  prisoner  this  evening,  and  so  shall  I :  what  a  sum  of 

head-money  I  shall  have  to  spend  to  pay  the  ransom !     But  I 

hear  the  arch-madman  speaking  to  his  men-at-arms.     What 

can  he  be  saying  to  them?  .  .  .  He  has  not  been  instructed 

in  letters.  .  .  .  He  is,  as  usual,  very  incoherent  in  his  speech. 

.  .  .  The  wind  is  blowing  from  that  direction.  ...  I  can  catch 

some  phrases.  .  .  . 

THE  KING  (in  the  distance) :  My  brave  and  daring  knights, 

I  should  never  have  undertaken  this  expedition  .  .  .  without 

my  reliance  on  your  valour  and  prowess.  ...  Be  assured  that 

it  is  as  easy  for  us  to  win  the  battle  as  to  begin  it,  or  easier.  .  .  . 

Remember  that  our  forefathers  went  all  over  the  world  .  .  . 

gained  great  spoils  and  triumphs  .  .  .  think  only  of  fighting 

valiantly  .  .  .  and  if  you  prefer  ...  to  retire  in  flight,  say 

so  in  good  time.  .  .  . 

DE  COMMINES:  There's  superb  braggadocio,  worthy  of  the 

terrible  Firebrace !     We  shall  have  to  pay  a  trifle  too  dearly 

for  this  shouting  before  the  world  is  much  older.     Oh,  gentle 

and  merciful  Lord  Jesus,  have  pity  on  us ! 


H   2 


49 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


THE    BATTLE. 

The  French  troops  have  just  charged.  The  King,  sword  in  hand,  raises 
his  visor  ;  his  forehead  streams  with  sweat,  his  eyes  shine  Uke 
hghtnings.  Mis  horse  is  panting.  The  lances  wave  hke  corn  in  a 
licld.  and  the  gonfalons  tlame  and  undulate.  Banners  of  every  hue 
are  Hying,  displaying  the  colours  of  the  escutcheons  ;  trumpet  and 
clarion  blasts,  rumbling  of  drums  and  tabors  ;  crios  in  the  plain,  war- 
cries,  cries  of  rage  and  pain  ;  clouds  of  dust  rise  from  every  quarter  ; 
a  dull  noise  of  the  discharge  of  cannon  ;  here  and  there  are  seen  the 
dead,  the  wounded,  in  heaps,  in  rows,  fallen  at  random. 

BOURDILLON  (saluting  the  King  with  his  sword):  Your 

Majesty  is  doing  wonders ! 

THE  KING :  Speak  to  me  frankly,  Bourdillon,  as  to  your 

bosom  friend.     Have  I  borne  myself  well  ? 

BOURDILLON  :  By  the  saints!  better  than  Amadis! 

THE  KING  :  A  grand  thing  is  war!     My  heart  is  exalted  to 

the  heavens  !     Forward !     See  !     The  mellay  is  furious  on  the 

left !     Forward,  knights,  let  us  charge  ! 

He  once  more  lowers  liis  visor,  brandishes  his  sword  and  goes  off  with 
the  crowd,  which  cries  :  "  Long  live  the  King  !  Saint  Denis  I 
France !  " 


ANOTHER   PART   OF  THE   BATTLEFIELD. 
The  Swiss  in  deep  formation. 

CAPTAIN     RUTTIMANN     OF     LUCERNE:     Ho,     my 

children,  look  at  the  Gascons !     They've  done  their  work ! 

The  Albanians  are  in  headlong  flight !     If  you  don't  hurry  up, 

there'll  be  no  plunder :  your  comrades  will  have  taken  the  pick ! 

SOLDIERS  :  It's  true,  it's  true,  forward! 

CAPTAIN  :  Lower  arms !     Charge  !     Hard ! 

The  Swiss  fling  themselves  with  fierce  halberd  thrusts  on  a  squadron 
of  Milanese  men-at-arms,  which  is  broken  in  an  instant  and  takes 
to  flight ;  slaughter,  shouts,  drums,  trumpets. 


"50 


SAVONAROLA 

ON   THE   ALLIES'    SIDE. 
An  eminence. — The  Marquis  of  Mantua,  general  of  the  Venetian  armj'^  ; 
captains  of  free-lances  and  Albanian  mercenaries,  the  two  Provveditori, 
nobles  of  their  suite. — In  the  plain,  the  various  Milanese  and  Venetian 
regiments  begin  to  waver. 

FIRST  PROVVEDITORE :  But,  my  Lord  Marquis,  I  don't 
understand  what  it  all  means !  The  most  serene  Signiory  has 
given  the  men  their  pay  to  the  uttermost  farthing !  You  have 
had  all  that  you  asked  for !  You  want  for  nothmg  .  .  .  pro- 
visions, guns,  ammunition.  .  .  .  Why  don't  the  troops  hold 
their  ground  ? 

MARQUIS:  I  am  giving  orders;  I  have  no  time  to  answer  you. 
He  speaks  to  several  officers,  who  go  off  rapidly  in  different  directions. 
The  artillery  comes  up. 

SECOND   PROVVEDITORE:   It  is  intolerable!     I   shall 

make  a  report !     It  seems  to  me  that  the  cross-bowmen  are 

taking  to  flight ! 

FIRST    PROVVEDITORE:    The    situation    is    extremely 

serious. 

MARQUIS:  Our  centre  is  certainly  behaving  badly. 

SECOND  PROVVEDITORE:  My  lord  Marquis,  we  have  a 

right  to  question  you,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  answer ! 

MARQUIS :  Don't  you  consider  that  the  Milanese  are  giving 

us  poor  support  ?    I  do  not  know  what  their  General  Gayazzo  is 

thinking  of. 

FIRST  PROVVEDITORE:  Have  him  arrested! 

SECOND    PROVVEDITORE:    Reflect,    for    God's    sake, 

reflect,  my  noble  colleague !     Such   a  case  is   not  provided 

for  in  our  instructions.     Your  proposal  is  very  daring! 

MARQUIS  :  By  St.  IMark !     What  I  feared  is  coming  to  pass  ! 

The  Albanians  are  disbanding  to  loot  the   baggage!     Our 

infantry  are  no  longer  covered  on   their  right!     They    are 

crushed  by  the  cavalry !  ,  .  .  They  fly ! 

THE  TWO  PROVVEDITORI:  All  is  lost? 

MARQUIS:    Faith,  almost!     Don't  stay  there,  gentlemen! 

Tlie  Gascons  are  coming  up  at  a  gallop  !    Let  us  rally  our  men  ! 
The  French  bugles  sound  a  charge  ;  the  Battle  of  Fornovo  is  lost  for 
the  Venetians  and  Milanese. 

51 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

FLORENCE. 

Sandro  Botticelli's  studio. — An  immense  hall  of  great  height. — A  crowd  of 
artists  in  picturesque  and  here  and  there  rather  disorderly  costume  ; 
several  occupied  on  large  canvases  arc  perched  on  scaffoldings  ; 
others  arc  finishing  pictures  or  sketching  them  on  easels. — Sandro 
Botticclh,  Luca  Signorelh,  Domenico  Ghirlandaio,  and  Fra  Benedetto, 
miniature  painter  ;  he  wears  the  habit  of  a  Dominican  and  bends  over 
a  missal  placed  on  a  small  table  ;  he  is  illuminating  it,  taking  minute 
quantities  of  colours  from  bowls  that  he  has  around.  II  Cronaca, 
architect. 

SANDRO  (in  a  plaintive  tone) :  This  is  my  last  day  as  a  lay- 
man, and  this  canvas  will  be  my  last  work  ;  henceforth,  I  shall 
only  think  of  lamenting  my  sins. 

FRA  BARTOLOMMEO  DI  SAN  MARCO: You  will  do 
well,  and  we  shall  do  well  to  follow  your  example.     Salvation 
IS  worth  more  than  talent,  and  the  palm  of  the  elect  outweighs 
the  crown  of  genius.     Amen ! 
ARTISTS:  Amen!    Amen! 

SIGNORELLI  :  My  children,  1  think  you  are  going  too  far. 
There  are  good  points  about  the  holy  doctrine  of  Fra  Girolamo. 
But  to  dress  like  the  poor,  as  many  of  you  affect,  to  renounce 
all  the  pleasures  of  life,  to  groan  from  morning  till  evening, 
and  above  all,  to  return  to  the  dry  forms  and  angular  designs 
of  the  old  masters — that  is  not  worshipping  God  in  heart  and 
brain,  and  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  of  much  use. 
IL  CRONACA :  The  Good  is  absolute,  and  admits  of  no 
division. 

SIGNORELLI :  The  Good  is  infinite ;  it  admits  of  no 
narrowness. 

Enter  the  sculptor  Torrigiani,  magnificently  dressed,  his  biretta  low 
down  over  his  eyes.     He  slams  the  door. 

TORRIGIANI  :  May  the  devil  confound  you,  snuffling 
hypocrites  that  you  are !  I'll  smash  in  the  face  of  the  first 
man  who  prates  to  me  of  that  humbug  Fra  Girolamo! 
BOTTICELLI :  You  will  be  damned,  Torrigiani! 
TORRIGIANI :  And  pray,  why?  I  am  a  better  Christian  than 
you !  Idiot !  He's  a  pretty  prophet  for  you !  A  flatterer 
of    the    mob!     A    phrase-monger!     A     frantic     hypocrite! 

52 


SAVONAROLA 

Reform!  Virtue!  Morals!  ...  By  Bacchus,  do  you  think 
the  dehghts  of  this  world  are  made  to  be  trampled  underfoot  ? 
Do  you  think  that  beautiful  women  are  created  so  as  to  go  and 
rot  alive  in  closed  convents  ?  Are  warm  wines  to  be  poured 
into  the  mud,  and  are  the  antique  masterpieces  that  are  being 
dug  up  every  day  to  return  into  the  earth  where  the  lessons 
they  teach  us  have  been  buried  and  stifled  for  so  long  ?  Am 
I  to  go  with  your  monk  and  burn  the  new  books,  so  as  to 
quench  with  their  cinders  the  renascent  flame  of  the  intellect  ? 
By  heaven,  no !  I  cry  out  to  you,  I  shout  to  you :  you  are 
idiots,  apes  of  unwholesome  perfection,  monsters  of  absurdity, 
and  I  am  leaving  Florence  this  very  evening,  so  as  to  see  and 
hear  no  more  of  it  all. 

IL  CRONACA:  For  my  part,  I  honour  as  my  father,  yes, 
far  more  than  my  father,  the  venerable,  the  sublime,  the 
incomparable,  the  divine  Fra  Girolamo!  If  he  is  ever 
attacked,  I  shall  defend  him  even  unto  death,  and  those  who 
insult  him  are  brutes !  All  you  can  do  is  to  roll  your  great 
hectoring  eyes  at  me !  I  shan't  let  my  face  be  flattened  like 
little  Buonarotti!  And  if  you  have  the  misfortune  to  come 
near  me,  I  shall  stick  my  stiletto  right  in  your  breast,  vile  slave 
of  the  Medici  that  you  are  I 

TORRIGIANI :  When  any  of  you  has  uttered  that  big  word, 
he  thinks  he  has  uttered  the  crowning  insult!  Wipe  your 
mouth !  It  is  still  stained  from  the  pap  that  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent  crammed  you  with! 

BOTTICELLI :  Say  what  you  please,  Florence  has  none  the 
less  become  the  kingdom  of  God.  Jesus  holds  the  sceptre ; 
the  most  Holy  Virgin  counsels  us  through  the  voice  of 
Girolamo ;  the  rich  feed  the  poor,  and  there  is  nothing  finer 
than  that. 

TORRIGIANI :  And  you  consider  it  a  fine  thing,  too,  to  burn 
good  pictures  and  to  begin  once  more,  as  you  did  fifty  years 
ago,  painting  women  like  spindles,  without  breasts  or  bellies? 
You  think  it  very  grand  to  be  in  rags  and  to  weep  from 

53 


rilE    RENAISSANCE 

morning  till  night  like  a  rainspout,  without  anyone  having  an 
idea  why  ? 

ERA  BARTOEOiMMEO:  As  for  you,  with  your  brave  show 
of  velvet  and  embroideries,  your  plumes  and  your  gilded 
poniard  and  your  rings,  you  insult  the  poverty  of  your  brothers ! 
TORRIGIANI:  Of  my  brothers  ...  of  my  brothers?  And 
have  you  all,  rabble  that  you  are,  the  impudence  to  style  your- 
selves my  brothers?  Wait  a  little,  until  you  know  how  to 
design  a  torso  and  to  grasp  and  render  a  foreshortening  as  1 
do,  before  you  pose  as  my  cousins  even !  There'll  be  some 
time  to  wait !  My  brothers  are  dead !  They  were  the  artists 
of  ancient  Rome ! 

DOMENICO  GHIRLANDAIO:  Learn  how  to  chisel  us 
heavenly  Madonnas,  pure,  chaste  and  severe,  and  we  shall  be 
able  to  admire  you  ! 

TORRIGIANI :  May  heaven  crush  you!  .  .  .  What  are  these 
shouts  ? 

He  runs  towards  the  door, 
IL  CRONACA :  Go— to  your  death !  They  are  the  children 
of  the  city,  who,  massed  in  sacred  bands,  proclaim  the  King 
Jesus,  tear  the  clothes  of  people  dressed  like  you,  and  beat 
and  arrest  the  evil-minded  so  as  to  escort  them  to  gaol. 
Go !  go ! 

TORRIGIANI :  Those  packs  of  mad  curs  won't  touch  me 
without  my  stabbing  a  dozen  of  them  !  Good-bye !  I'll  leave 
this  lunatic  asylum !  I  will  not  come  back  until  we  are  free 
to  portray  Mars  and  Venus !  Art,  look  you,  poor  tatter- 
demalions that  you  are,  is  the  sole  virtue,  the  sole  greatness, 
the  sole  truth !  There  is  nothing  that  finds  more  favour  in 
the  sight  of  God !  Your  portion  is  falsehood,  ignorance, 
pedantry,  baseness  !  Mine  is  refulgent  genius !  Long  life  to 
Art !  Long  life  to  light !  Down  with  darkness  !  I'll  go  and 
enlist  in  the  Spanish  troops,  and  wage  a  war  to  the  death 
against  you ! 

BOTTICELLI :  Yesterday  you  were  all  for  driving  the 
barbarians  from  Italy.     You  have  found  the  way ! 

54 


SAVONAROLA 

TORRIGIANI :  We'll  exterminate  the  French  first  and  then 
the  Aragonese !  .  .  .  Good-bye  .  .  .  vermin ! 
A  PAINTER  (g-liding  down  rapidly  from  a  scaffolding) :  His 
insolence  is  too  much  !  .  .  .  There  !     There's  one  for  you ! 

Hurls  his  knife  at  him,  the  knife  misses  its  adm  and  sticks  into  the 
wall. 

TORRIGIANI  (going  out):  A  poor  shot!     I'll  pay  you  out 
for  that,  if  I  have  to  wait  twenty  years. 


The  interior  of  the  church  of  Santa  Reparata. — A  vast,  densely-packed 
crowd.  All  the  altars  at  the  sides  are  hidden  in  flowers  ;  the  candles 
and  Ughts  glitter  ;  the  statues  of  saints  are  dressed  in  their  finest  robes 
of  silk,  velvet  and  brocade,  and  loaded  with  jewels  ;  the  smell  of 
incense  fills  the  building  ;  newcomers  arrive  every  moment  and  make 
the  crowd  surge  ;  children,  schoolboys,  young  men  are  perched  on  the 
window-sills  and  altar  .screens  ;  many  cUng  to  the  friezes  of  the 
columns  ;  the  Signiory  occupies  the  pews  facing  the  pulpit.  Profound 
silence. 

FRA  GIROLAMO  (in  the  pulpit):  Florence!  Florence! 
God  has  not  spared  thee  His  warnings !  He  does  not  deny 
them  to  thee !  He  loves  thee  as  He  loves  His  Church.  But 
truth  is  gloomy ;  hearken  to  her !  Thy  life  is  spent  in  bed, 
in  gossip,  in  idle  conversations,  in  infamous  orgies,  in  nameless 
debaucheries !     Thy  life,  Florence,  is  the  life  of  swine ! 

Tremors  in  the  congregation. 

Thou  answerest  me  :  "  Brother,  thou  sparest  me  not !  "  I  shall 
not  spare  thee  at  all !  What  right  hast  thou  to  dread  reproofs 
if  thou  hast  no  fear  of  punishments?  Did  I  predict  them? 
Answer!  Answer!  .  .  .  Did  I,  or  did  I  not  let  thee  know 
what  was  threatening?  This  poor  brother  who  is  nothing, 
who  is  nothing  worth,  who  by  himself  knows  nothing, 
has  he  not  been  inspired  by  God  and  by  Jesus  our 
King  to  deliver  thee  from  the  Medici  and  snatch 
thee  from  the  claws  of  the  French?  .  .  .  And  what 
has  happened?  I  last  thou  forgotten  already?  .  .  .  The 
Medici   eat   the   bread   of   Venice,    and    the    French.  .  .  the 

55 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

French,  only  too  happy  to  have  been  able,  against  all  likeli- 
hood, to  scrape  through  with  a  victory  at  Fornovo,  have  fled, 
panting  and  humbled,  to  the  very  depths  of  their  country, 
and  there  they  remain.  .  .  .  Fear  not !     They  will  return  no 

more ! 

Profound  emotion. 

Therefore,  however  small  a  gleam  of  reason  thou  mayest  have 
left,  thou  wilt  remember  that  I  always  told  thee  it  would  be 
thus,  that  my  words  have  never  proved  vain,  and  thou  wilt 
believe  me  this  time  when  I  say  to  thee :  Government  by  the 
people  is  the  best  for  thee!  God  has  granted  it  to  thee  by 
my  hand!  Keep  it!  Suffer  no  one  to  assail  it;  he  who 
assails  it  is  insulting  God,  and  is  guilty  of  impiety  ;  he  is  insult- 
ing Jesus  our  King,  he  is  guilty  of  treachery,  of  high  treason  ; 
wilt   thou    pardon    such   a   wretch,   wallowing   in    crimes   so 

heinous  ? 

Cries  of  rage. 

My  lords  of  the  Eight,  I  tell  you  that  such  scoundrels — those 
who  disturb  the  public  peace  and  call  themselves  as  before 
White  or  Grey — must  be  punished !  Do  not  hesitate !  Ten 
florins  fine!  If  they  repeat  the  crime,  four  lashes!  If  they 
persist,  the  dungeon  for  life!  And  now,  Florence,  feed  thy 
poor — they  are  limbs  of  Jesus  our  King!  It  is  not  meet  that 
the  people  go  hungry  when  the  rich  are  gorged.  Henceforth 
wheat  will  cost  no  more  than  a  shilling  the  bushel  for  those 

who  cannot  pay  more. 

Sensation. 

When  everyone  has  enough  to  eat  his  fill,  the  work  is  not 
yet  begun  ;  all  the  main  part  still  remains  to  do.  You  will 
answer  me  :  "  Brother,  you  are  insatiable  !  We  have  the  govern- 
ment of  God,  we  have  the  charity  of  God,  we  have."  .  .  .  You 
have  legions  of  vices,  growing  rank  in  your  souls!  All  hell 
holds  revel  there,  you  know  it  only  too  well,  and  not  one  of 
you  is  better  than  another!  .  .  .  .Perhaps  you  will  make  me 
excuses  for  the  soldiers,  coarse  folk !  for  the  merchants,  minds 

56 


A     SAVONAROLA    SERMON 


To  fact  page  56 


SAVONAROLA 

corrupted  by  gain !  for  the  young  men,  empty  heads !  for  the 
women,  fooHsh  creatures!  Very  well.  .  .  .  Will  you  find 
excuses  also  for  the  simoniacal,  libidinous,  adulterous,  drunken, 
thieving  priests  who,  from  the  See  of  St.  Peter  down  to  the 
humblest  confessional  of  the  humblest  parish,  draw  you  alter 
them  on  their  road  to  perdition  ?  No  more  of  these  afflictions ! 
of  these  abominations !  of  these  Babylonian  enormities ! 
Sweep  them  away!  sweep  them  away!  otherwise,  Florence, 
thou  art  lost !  I  swear  to  thee  that  thou  art  lost !  The  cup  of 
patience  is  drained !  It  has  not  a  drop  left !  The  sword  of 
vengeance  is  upon  thee!  Ah!  hapless  one!  ...  It  is 
lowered!  it  strikes! 

Cries  of  terror 

You  answer :  "  Brother,  what  do  you  ask  for  ? "  I  ask  for 
nothing.  It  is  God  who  will  have  no  more  of  frivolous  amuse- 
ments !  Have  you  not  wasted  your  lives  enough  ?  No  more 
parades  where  the  women  try  to  captivate !  No  more  balls, 
they  are  perdition !  No  more  taverns,  they  are  brutishness ! 
No  more  gaming,  it  is.  .  .  .  Ah !  that  makes  you  uneasy  ? 
You  would  rather  renounce  your  share  of  paradise  than  that 
shameful  practice  ?  Well,  I  will  be  merciful.  .  .  .  Gamble,  if 
you  must !  but  abandon  the  dice !  Take  knucklebones ! 
Gamble,  but  never  for  money !  Gamble  for  salads,  nuts,  roots ! 
Poor  creatures,  you  laugh,  and  I,  I  cry  to  the  faithful : — 
When  you  see  in  the  streets  or  the  houses  misguided  persons 
give  themselves  up  to  their  passion  for  games  of  chance,  shrink 
not  from  snatching  the  cards  from  their  hands,  and  you,  my 
lords  of  the  Eight,  arrest  them ;  imprison  them !  .  .  .  The 
rack! 

The  sermon  continues. 


5; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

IN    THE   SQUARE. 
Before  the  Church. — Groups  of  children. 

YOUNG  BONI  (crying  and  shouting):  Oh-h-h! 
A  BOY:  What's  the  matter  with  you? 

The  other  children  gather  round  him 
YOUNG  BONI :  A  big  brute  has  just  thumped  my  head  with 
his  fist.     It's  that  man  walking  away  there. 
SECOND  BOY:  Why  did  he  hit  you? 

YOUNG  BONI:  Because  I  wanted  to  pull  off  his  Venetian 
lace  collar. 

THE  CHILDREN:  Oh,  the  beast.  Let's  run  after  him! 
Let's  tear  him  to  pieces ! 

THIRD  BOY:  Don't  do  anything,  he's  a  monster!  It's 
Torrigiani,  the  sculptor,  a  compagnacco !  He  loves  neither 
God  nor  the  Holy  Virgin !     He's  too  strong  for  us ! 

Two  girls  pass  ;  a  dozen  children  surround  them 
FIRST  BOY :  My  sisters,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  King 
of  this  city,  and  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  our  Queen,  I  command 
you  to  take  off  those  jewels  and  strip  yourselves  of  all  that 
velvet. 

FIRST  GIRL :  We'll  obey  you  at  once,  dear  child.  Let 
us  go  into  our  house. 

FOURTH   BOY:    I  know  them,  they're  past  praying  for! 
We  already  urged  them  the  day  before  yesterday  to  be  less 
immodest ;  they's  always  starting  afresh. 
SECOND   GIRL:   It  takes  time  to  sew  new  dresses,  you 
must  understand,  my  little  friend ! 
FIFTH  BOY:  Let's  pull  off  everything! 

The  band  rushes  at  the  two  damsels  and  tears  to  piece.';  their  finery 
and  their  head-dresses. 

SIXTH  BOY:  Good!  two  necklaces!  earrings!  bracelets! 
chains!     Let's  give  them  to  the  poor! 

Other  children  run  up. 
FIRST  CHILD:  What  are  those  women  crying  for? 
A  BOY  OF  TWELVE :  They  are  sinners  whom  we've  led 
back  to  virtue.     And  you,  where  do  you  come  from  ? 

58 


SAVONAROLA 

THE    CHILD:    From  begging!     Fifty  ducats!     Then   we 

despoiled  the  gamesters !     Now,  look  here !     Listen !     At  the 

corner  of  the  Via  Cocomero,  I  know  a  house  where  they  keep 

profane  books,  a  chess-board,  harps,  also  a  looking-glass,  1 

think,  but  I  am  not  certain.     Come,  all  of  you  !     Let  us  cleanse 

that  hell ! 

THE  CHILDREN:  Come  along! 

A  CITIZEN:  Ho!  Nicola!  come  here,  my  boy! 

NICOLA:  What  do  you  want,  father? 

CITIZEN :  Go  indoors,  I  have  to  talk  with  you. 

NICOLA :  I  have  to  serve  Jesus  and  repress  sinners ! 

CITIZEN  :  Accursed  brat,  will  you  obey  me? 

NICOLA :  It  is  better  to  obey  God  than  men!     Come  along, 

lads! 

Bustle  in  the  crowd  coming  out  of  church. 
A  CHILD  (perched  in  a  tree):  Here's  the  Father!  Here's 
the  Father ! 

Under  the  porch  appears  Fra  Girolamo,  surrounded  by  the  Fathers 
of  San  Marco,  among  whom  are  Fra  Silvestre  Maruffi,  the  Padre 
Buonvicini,  the  Padre  Sacromoro,  and  other  zealots.  The  crowd 
salutes  them  with  transports  ;  men  and  women  kneel  and  kiss 
Fra  Girolamo's  frock,  weeping. 

THE  CHILDREN:  The  hymn!      The  hymn!      Chant  the 
hymn ! 

They  sing. 
"  Lumen  ad  revelationem  gentium  et  gloriam  plebis  tuae 
Israel !  "* 

Fra  Girolamo  departs,  amid  the  adoration  of  tlie  crowd. 

A  room  in  the  house  of  Tanai  de'Nerli  ;  his  wife,  his  son. 
NERLI :  In  a  v.-ord,  I  am  tired  of  these  scenes,  and  I'll  have 
no  more  of  them.     I'll  live  as  I  please  ;    I'll  have  peace  in 
my  house. 

WIFE :  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  will  not  bow  to  the  yoke 
of  the  demon. 
NERLI :  Whom  do  you  call  demon,  pray?     Me? 

•  "  A^light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles  and  the  glory  of  thy  people,  Israel  !  " 

59 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

WIFE  :    No,  not  you,  but  the  spirit  that  possesses  you.     Why 

keep  that  horrible  book  which  the  Prophet  caused  to  be  burnt 

in    the     open    square  ?     Have    you    not    a    copy    of    that 

"  Decameron,"  since  I  must  name  it  ? 

NERLl  :  You're  making  a  lot  of  din  about  a  book  which  has 

been  in  everyone's  hands  for  centuries. 

WIFE  :    For  long  ages  everyone  has  been  working  his  own 

damnation,  and  it  is  time  to  stop. 

NERLI  :   I  want  peace,  and  this  time  I  tell  you  that  in  all 

seriousness. 

CHILD  :    Do  you  see,  mamma,  he  has  the  book  and  others 

also  which  Fra  Girolamo  has  forbidden !    Yes,  I  know  it.    Let 

us  burn,  burn  these  books ! 

WIFE  :  Yes,  my  darling,  don't  be  afraid!     I  shall  not  allow 

what  I  ought  not  to  allow. 

NERLI  :  This  is  raving  madness,  and  I  insist  on  your  calming 

down,  Monna  Lisa ;  otherwise,  I  shall  take  such  steps 

WIFE  :  It  is  useless  to  try  and  browbeat  me  ;  you  won't  suc- 
ceed ;   in  spite  of  you  I'll  work  out  my  salvation ! 
CHILD  :   Yes,  mamma,  do  work  out  your  salvation !     Work 
out  your  salvation,  mamma  ! 
WTFE  :  Yes,  dearest!  fear  not! 

NERLI  :  This  is  a  house  of  demoniacs  in  a  city  of  madmen, 
and  this  Florence,  which  before  was  only  a  baggage,  is  now 

become  a  lunatic  since  that  cursed  monk 

WIFE  (beside  herself) :  Ah !  do  not  blaspheme  Fra  Girolamo, 

I  implore  you ! 

NERLI :  I'll  send  Fra  Girolamo  to  the  devil  if  I  please,  and 

you,  too !     Do  you  hear  ? 

WIFE  :  And  I,  you  monster,  I'll  run  and  denounce  you  to  the 

Eight    and    demand    an    exemplary    punishment    for    such 

wickedness. 

CHILD  :   Yes,  mamma!     Papa  must  be  punished! 

NERLI :    May  heaven  confound  you  all! 


60 


SAVONAROLA 

ROME. 
June,  1500. 

The  Vatican. — A  room  in  the  pontifical  apartments. — Alexander  VI.  ; 
Lucrezia  Borgia,  Duchess  of  BisagUa.  She  is  in  deep  mourning, 
seated  in  an  arm-chair,  much  distraught  and  her  face  stained  with 
tears. 

ALEXANDER  VL  :  Yes,  it  is  true.  Your  brother  Cesare 
is  the  culprit.  He  went  into  the  room  where  your  unhappy 
husband  Alfonso  lay,  with  his  wounds  in  bandages ;  he 
strangled  him.  ...  I  confess  it  .  .  .  you  would  be  told  any- 
way .  .  .  you  would  not  take  four  steps  in  the  city  without 
hearing  of  it.  ...  I  had  rather  you  learnt  it  from  me,  so  that 
we  can  consider  together  what  ought  to  be  done  in  such 
circumstances,  which  cannot  be  altered. 

Lucrezia  sobs  into  her  handkerchief  and  wrings  her  hands. 
The  essential  character  of  all  sorrow,  however  great  it  may  be 
(and  yours  is  very  great,  my  daughter,  and  more  justified  than 
any  other  sorrow  can  be)  .  .  .  the  character  of  all  sorrow  is 
that  it  is  followed  by  oblivion. 
LUCREZIA:  Ah!  Holy  Father! 

ALEXANDER  VL  :  I  am  speaking  to  you  reasonably. 
Persons  in  our  station  must  always  be  reasonable,  otherwise 
they  become  meaner  than  anyone  else.  Sorrows,  the  most 
bitter  despairs,  all  that  comes  to  shock  us  and  rob  us  of  some 
possession  or  other,  these  cruel  reverses  of  fortune,  all  this 
appears  only  in  order  to  be  forgotten.  A  day  will  come  when 
you  yourself  will  be  astonished  to  find  yourself  hardly  able  to 
recall  the  features  and  perhaps  the  name  of  this  husband, 
whose  loss  at  present  afflicts  you  with  a  grief  that  seems  to 
you  intolerable. 

LUCREZIA:  To  lose  him!  ...  To  lose  him  Hke  this!  .  .  . 
Murdered  by  my  brother!  ...  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
overjoyed  at  the  birth  of  his  son  !  .  .  .  What  kind  of  a  monster 
is  his  murderer? 

ALEXANDER  VI. :  He  is  not  a  monster,  my  daughter,  but 
a  ruler  who  could  not  enter  his  destined  sphere  but  at  the 

61 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

price  of  the  most  sustained  and  sometimes  the  most  pitiless 
efforts.  Listen  to  me,  Lucrezia,  and  don't  raise  your  hands 
to  Heaven.  I  do  not  speak  to  you  cither  to  justify  Don 
Cesare  foohshly  or  to  insult  you ;  I  am  trying  to  awaken  in 
you  what  1  know  to  be  clear-cut,  true,  and  powerful  sentiments, 
and  to  enable  you  to  pass  through  a  crisis  in  which  youth  and 
experience  do  not  admit  of  your  showing  yourself  in  your 
most  heroic  light. 

LUCREZIA:  1  am  a  miserable  widow  mourning  for  an 
innocent  husband,  slaughtered  by  the  most  infamous  of 
traitors ! 

ALEXANDER  VI.:  What  is  the  use  of  words  so  violent? 
Let  us  consider,  Lucrezia.  .  .  .  You  know  that  I  love  you, 
from  the  depths  of  my  heart  ? 

LUCREZIA :  I  know  also  to  what  horrible  suspicions  and 
accusations  the  affection  of  your  Holiness  exposes  my  honour ! 
But  I  am  in  despair,  and  I  care  about  nothing  any  more  in 
the  world ! 

ALEXANDER  VI. :  People  say  that  I  am  both  your  father 
and  your  lover  ?  Lucrezia,  let  the  world,  let  that  mass  of 
grubs,  as  absurd  as  they  are  feeble,  imagine  the  most 
ridiculous  tales  about  the  strong.  In  their  powerlessness  to 
understand  the  aims  of  our  souls,  they  see  only  in  them  the 
eccentric ;  they  cannot  analyse  the  workings  and  still  less 
perceive  the  bearing,  and  they  think  to  discover  in  the 
mysterious  bosom  of  this  unknown  the  stupid  infamies  for 
which  they  can  hardly  find  a  name.  Let  these  gusts  of  futility 
whirl  about  your  head  without  finding  an  entrance.  Let  us 
speak  only  of  the  things  that  matter.  You  must  shake  off 
this  despondency.  Your  situation  requires  that ;  you  must 
not,  and  I  will  not  let  you,  shut  yourself  up  in  solitude  ;  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  return  to  Nepi,  where  you  desire  at  this 
moment  to  bury  for  ever  yourself  and  your  sorrows.  That 
will  not  do.  Nature  herself  opposes  such  a  step ;  you  are 
young,  beautiful,  energetic,  intelligent,  active  ;  you  need  life, 
and  life  needs  you.     Stay  with  us.  stay  in  this  world  to  rule 

62 


l.LCRi:/.lA     li(JK(,ilA 


1o  fait  page  t)2 


SAVONAROLA 

it!  You  say  you  have  lost  a  husband  who  was  dear  to  you? 
I  regret,  I  deplore  this  as  you  do,  and  I  would  have  given 
much  to  spare  you  the  pang.  Nevertheless,  you  are  Madam 
Lucrezia  Borgia ;  your  blood  is  among  the  noblest  known ; 
you  are  Duchess  of  Bisaglia  and  Sermoneta,  Princess  of 
Aragon,  perpetual  Governor  of  Spoleto  ;  you  are  looked  upon 
as  almost  the  equal  of  crowned  heads ;  you  were  born  with 
the  instinct  of  queening  it  over  the  nations,  and  your  mind — 
I  know  how  elevated  it  is^will  never  allow  you  to  withdraw 
from  this  task. 

LUCREZIA :  Once  upon  a  time,  may  be,  I  took  pleasure  in 
watching  the  course  of  affairs  and  touching  the  wires  that 
make  them  move.  .  .  .  That  time  is  past.  I  have  decided  to 
busy  myself  no  more  with  anything  but  my  son,  and,  when  I 
have  the  power,  with  my  vengeance. 

ALEXA5sDER  VL  :  Take  care,  Lucrezia!  Never  repeat  to 
anyone  but  me  so  dangerous  a  word.  Your  brother  knows 
what  he  wants  and  wants  what  he  has  a  right  to.  It  is 
necessary  that  his  plans  should  succeed,  and  if  one  day  he 
came  to  think  he  had  been  deceived  in  you,  and  that  you  are 
not  really  the  strong  and  intelligent  woman  he  claims  you  to 
be  ;  if,  in  short,  he  found  in  you  a  hindrance  and  not  a  help, 
you  would  not  be  more  secure  against  him  than  were  your 
brother  Giovanni  and  your  unfortunate  husband  whom  he 
stabbed  under  my  very  cloak  .  .  .  and  so  many  others.  .  .  . 
LUCREZIA:  Don  Cesare  is  the  last  person  to  frighten  me, 
and,  if  he  defies  you,  he  will  not  defy  me ! 

ALEXANDER  VI. :  That  is  how  I  love  to  see  you,  and  now 
I  recognise  you !  The  little  middle-class  widow  has  disap- 
peared!  It  is  the  Queen,  the  Sovereign,  who  speaks!  .  .  .  My 
daughter,  you  are  at  this  moment  as  beautiful  as  Pride !  You 
are  strength  itself !  Hence  I  will  speak  to  you.  Don  Cesare  has 
never  had  the  least  intention  of  hurting  you,  and  you  will 
understand  that  if  you  reflect  a  little.  When,  two  years  ago, 
we  made  you  leave  Giovanni  Sforza,  and  married  you  to  Don 
Alfonso    of    Aragon,    we    obeyed    necessity    and    made    an 

I  O3 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

irreproachable  match.  Although  your  consort  was  only  the 
natural  son  of  the  King  of  Naples,  we  gained  through  him  a 
mighty  ally,  and  at  that  moment  it  was  impossible  to  secure 
anything  better  for  our  ulterior  projects.  Since  then,  things 
have  greatly  altered.  The  indomitable  energy  of  Don 
Cesare,  his  adroitness,  his  wealth  of  resource,  the  favourable 
opportunities  which  he  has  seized,  and  from  which  he  has 
squeezed  all  the  juice,  allow  us  now  to  enjoy  the  favour,  the 
close  friendship,  the  affection  of  the  successor  of  Charles  VIII. 
We  have  and  shall  have  by  this  means  what  the  Spanish 
would  never  have  given  us ;  and  you  can  imagine  how  unsuit- 
able Don  Cesare  then  considered  an  Aragonese  alliance,  at 
the  precise  moment  when  we  were  compelled  to  become  French 
heart  and  soul,  and  with  most  scrupulous  care  to  avoid  giving 
umbrage  to  that  most  foolish,  most  credulous,  most  suspicious 
of  princes,  Louis  XII. 

LUCREZIA :  And  this  was  the  object  for  which  Don  Alfonso 
was  murdered  ? 

ALEXANDER  VI :  This  and  no  other.  I  admit  that  there 
were  other  ways  of  going  about  the  business.  You  could 
yourself  have  persuaded  the  unfortunate  Don  Alfonso  to 
abandon  his  father,  his  family  and  his  country. 
LUCREZIA  (sobbing) :  He  would  have  done  anything  I 
asked  him! 

ALEXANDER  VI. :  We  will  not  go  over  that  ground  again. 
Don  Cesare  was  wrong  in  the  form  ...  in  the  matter  he 
reasoned  correctly,  and  so  far  from  his  wishing  any  ill  to  you, 
I  shall  prove  to  you  that  he  only  thinks  of  your  elevation. 
LUCREZIA  :  I  dispense  him'  from  that. 
ALEXANDER  VI. :  In  judging  your  brother,  there  is  one 
truth  above  all  that  you  must  take  into  account,  and  perhaps 
such  an  examination  would  also  be  useful  in  explaining  you 
to  yourself.  We  are  not  shifty,  inconstant  Italians ;  we  are 
Spaniards  and,  where  violence  is  concerned,  an  innate  ten- 
dency impels  us  to  the  shortest  cut.  What  our  compatriots 
are  doing  in  the  New  Indies — the  hardness  of  the  Duke  of 

64 


SAVONAROLA 

Veragua  and  his  companions  towards  the  natives  of  those 
countries — we  of  the  House  of  Borgia,  Don  Cesare  in 
particular,  are  doing  in  Italy.  That  is  why  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that,  troubling  but  little  about  means  and  restraining 
ourselves  but  little  in  action,  we  are  free  from  the  most  oppres- 
sive bonds  which  paralyse  other  men,  and  we  shall  thus 
succeed  all  the  more  rapidly  in  establishing  our  greatness  on 
firm  foundations — the  great  task  to  which  we  must  devote  our- 
selves heart  and  soul. 

LUCREZIA*:  I  did  not  ask  to  marry  Don  Alfonso.  Under 
pretext  of  my  extreme  youth,  I  was  not  even  consulted  in  the 
matter,  any  more  than  I  was  before,  when  my  first  marriage 
was  arranged  and  broken  off,  or  still  earlier,  on  the  occasion 
of  my  first  betrothal.  What  is  the  meaning  of  these  words 
swollen  with  wind  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  you  dazzle  me  by 
the  tinsel  witli»Avhich  you  have  loaded  me  ?  By  right  of  my 
husband,  I  am  Duchess  of  Bisaglia  .  .  .  but  to-morrow  the 
King  of  Naples  can  deprive  me  of  this  fief,  which  was  a 
gratuitous  gift.  Sermoneta  you  took  from  the  Gaetani  and 
bestowed  on  me ;  someone  else  will  take  it  back  from  me  to 
pass  it  on  to  newcomers.  I  am  perpetual  Governor  of  Spoleto. 
But  Spoleto  belongs  to  the  Church,  and  when  you  are  dead, 
what  will  that  perpetuity  count  for?  No,  Holy  Father,  I  am 
nothing  but  a  wretched  woman  whose  family  makes  her  a 
mere  pawn  in  the  game,  whose  interests  are  no  more  con- 
sidered than  her  feelings.  In  such  a  situation,  there  remains 
to  me  my  pride  ;  you  made  me  leave  Nepi,  I  intend  to  go  back 
there  ;  I  shall  not  come  away  again  until  obliged  to  do  so  by 
my  duties  as  a  mother  and  an  outraged  wife. 
ALEXANDER  VI.:  Your  future  is  not  the  one  you  have 
just  described,  but  one  that  I  will  proceed  to  unfold  to  you. 
You  incriminate  your  kinsfolk  ?  But  consider  how  solicitous 
of  your  welfare  they  have  been.  In  the  times  before  we  rose 
to  power,  we  bethought  ourselves  of  a  nobleman,  rich  and 
of  good  birth  and  kindred,  and  we  thought  he  would  be  a 
proper  match  for  you.     But  very  soon  after,  the  wind  having 

I  2  6$ 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

filled  our  sails  and  the  ship  of  our  fortunes  having  taken  to 
the  high  seas,  we  at  once  set  you  free  from  this  moderate 
happiness,  and  took  you  with  us  on  our  own  \oyage.  At  that 
period  it  was  a  great  gain  to  acquire  for  yuu  some  sort  of  a 
prince ;  we  sought,  we  found,  we  gave  you  one.  Times  have 
changed  once  more  ;  the  falcons  have  been  turned  into  eagles  ; 
their  prey  must  be  more  lordly ;  they  wish  you  to  have  a 
share ;  what  suited  you  once  suits  you  no  more  ;  you  are 
worth  something  better.  What  would  you  say  to  a  sovereign, 
really  sovereign  throne  ?  To  a  husband  belonging  to  one  of 
the  noblest  houses  in  the  world — himself  handsome,  brave, 
intrepid,  one  of  the  best  generals  in  Italy,  marked  out  for  the 
highest  destinies,  one  who  loves  you  to  adoration  and  asks 
for  your  hand  ? 

LUCREZIA :  I  do  not  know  of  whom  you  speak,  and  do  not 
care  either.  •• 

ALEXANDER  VI. :  I  speak  of  Don  Alfonso  d'Este,  son  and 
heir  of  Duke  Ercole  of  Ferrara.     I  speak  of  your  true  great- 
ness, of  your  future,  of  your  happiness  ;    of  the  future,  the 
happiness,  the  life  of  your  son.     You  hear,  Lucrezia  ? 
LUCREZIA:  At  the  moment  I  am  incapable  of  listening  to 
such  proposals  or  to  argue  on  whatever  justice  they  may  have. 
ALEXANDER  VI. :  That  I  can  well  imagine.     But  you  can 
nevertheless  already  make  up  your  mind  that  it  is  not  con- 
venient for  you  to  return  to  Nepi.     To  persuade  you  the  more, 
r  will  tell  you  of  a  design  I  have  formed  in  concert  with  Don 
Cesare,    which    will    prove    to    you    my    affection    and    your 
brother's  devotion  to  your  true  interests. 
LUCREZIA :  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean. 
ALEXANDER  VI. :  Business  compels  me  to  leave  Rome  for 
some  time.     You  will  remain  here ;   you  will  take  my  place. 
The  government  will  be  put  in  your  hands  ;  you  will  have  the 
sole  right  of  opening  and  reading  dispatches,  of  taking  reso- 
lutions and  of  giving  orders.     I  have  commanded  my  most 
trusted  Cardinals  to  confer  with  you  whenever  you  think  fit. 
Thus,  Lucrezia,  you  will  rule  the  Papal  States  and  the  world, 

66 


SAVONAROLA 

spiritual  and  temporal.  I  know  that  you  are  worthy  of 
grasping  the  importance  of  such  a  task.  Believe  me.  Give 
up  those  tears  that  are  unworthy  of  you,  simply  because  they 
are  useless.  Think  of  the  glory  of  your  house,  of  the  future 
of  our  settlements,  and  remember  that  all  other  considerations 
vanish  before  so  lordly  an  ambition.  Know  henceforward  that 
for  the  kind  of  persons  whom  fate  summons  to  dominate 
others,  the  ordinary  rules  of  life  are  reversed,  and  duty 
becomes  quite  different.  Good  and  evil  are  lifted  to  another, 
to  a  higher  region,  to  a  different  plane.  The  virtues  that  may 
be  applauded  in  an  ordinary  woman  v,ould  m  you  become 
vices,  merely  because  they  would  only  be  sources  of  error  and 
ruin.  Now  the  great  law  of  the  world  is  not  to  do  this  or  that, 
to  avoid  one  thing  and  run  after  another ;  it  is  to  live,  to 
enlarge  and  develop  our  most  active  and  lofty  qualities,  in 
such  a  way  that  from  any  sphere  we  can  always  hew  ourselves 
out  a  way  to  one  that  is  wider,  more  airy,  more  elevated. 
Never  forget  that.  Walk  straight  on.  Simply  do  what  you 
please,  but  only  so  far  as  likewise  suits  your  interests.  Leave 
to  the  small  minds,  to  the  rabble  of  underlings,  all  slackness 
and  scruple.  There  is  only  one  consideration  worthy  of  you — 
the  elevation  of  the  House  of  Borgia  and  of  yourself ;  and  I 
hope  that  in  so  serious  a  reflection  there  is  enough  to  dry  your 
tears  and  to  make  you  accept  that  which,  being  henceforth 
an  accomplished  fact,  has  become  indifferent.  I  leave  you, 
Lucrezia,  and  call  upon  you  to  consider  yourself  as  one  who 
will  soon  be  Duchess  of  Ferrara  and  at  present  represents  for 
the  nations  the  Vicar  of  God ! 


6; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

VENICE. 
A  room  in  a  palace  of  the  Gran  Canale. — Hero  de'Medici,  walking  up  and 
down  with  a  troubled  air,  his  hands  beside  his  back  ;  his  brother,  the 
Cardinal  Giovanni  de'Medici,  altcrwards  Pope  Leo  X.,  now  nineteen 
years  ol  age  ;  his  cousin  Giulio  de'iNledici,  alterwanis  I'ope  Clement  VII., 
now  Kniyht  of  St.  John  and  Prior  of  Capua  ;  Bernardo  Dovisi  da 
Bibbiena,  steward  of  the  Cardinal's  house  antl  sometime  private 
secretary  to  Lorenzo  the  Magnilicent. 

BIBBIENA:  That  our  aflairs  are  in  a  bad  way  it  would  be 
puerile  to  deny,  but  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  need,  Lord 
Piero,  for  such  despair  as  yours. 

PIERO :  I  have  made  mistakes,  terrible  mistakes.  I  ought 
not  to  have  ceded  so  much  to  the  French  when  I  tried  to  turn 
them  aside  from  Florence.  After  coming  to  an  understanding 
with  them  I  ought  at  least  to  have  called  them  to  my  aid  before 
leaving  for  Bologna,  where  that  miserable  Giovanni 
Bentivoglio,  forgetting  what  he  owes  to  our  father's  memory, 
has  compelled  us  to  recognise  how  little  he  is  worth  himself, 
and  to  take  flight  here.  .  .  .  Ah !  if  ever  I  succeed  in  raising 
our  fallen  fortunes,  he  shall  know,  he  shall  know  what 
vengeance  means.  But  that  is  not  my  chief  vexation — as  I 
tell  you,  what  trouble  me  most  are  my  own  mistakes. 
GIOVANNI:  Brother,  brother,  don't  fret  so!  I  stayed  at 
Florence  after  you,  and  I  assure  you  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done.  Our  enemies  had  so  arranged  everything  and 
worked  upon  the  minds  of  the  citizens  that  our  dismissal  was 
a  foregone  conclusion.  Luca  Corsini,  Jacopo  de'  Nerli,  all 
those  envious  folk  had  stirred  up  even  the  most  easy-going 
people.  In  vain  I  spoke  to  them,  they  did  not  listen  to  me ; 
I  had  to  withdraw,  I  even  had  stones  thrown  at  me. 
Savonarola  was  against  me.  It  was  he  who  persuaded  the 
Dominicans  of  San  Marco  to  expel  me  from  their  convent, 
where  I  had  at  first  found  refuge. 
PIERO  :  A  house  that  we  founded. 

GIOVANNI  :  Be  not  so  distressed,  brother.  It  is  highly 
probable,  I  repeat,  that  Fra  Girolamo  had  perverted  the  minds 
of  the  good  Fathers,  otherwise  they  would  not  have  acted  as 
they    did.     It    was    a    dreadful    sight,    that    infuriated    mob 

68 


SAVONAROLA 

through  which  I  fled  disguised  as  a  poor  friar  ;   a  crowd  of 
ruffians  roaring,  shouting,    breaking  open  prison  doors  and 
embracing  thieves  and  murderers  as  they  let  them  out ! 
BIBBIENA  :  That  is  the  way  in  which  the  populace  plays  its 
part  in  public  affairs. 

PIERO  :  I  shall  make  what  I  can  out  of  this.  But  there  are 
worse  horrors.  You  have  learnt  that  our  uncle's  sons,  our 
cousins,  have  managed,  by  stooping  to  various  meannesses,  to 
re-enter  the  city  and  recover  their  property.  The  more  to 
prove  their  attachment  to  their  new  masters,  the  wretches  have 
solemnly  renounced  their  name,  and  bear  that  of  Popolani ;  so 
that  to-day  I  announce  to  you  the  existence  of  a  respectable 
Signer  Lorenzo  Popolani,  and  of  his  bother,  worthy  of  him  in 
all  respects,  the  honourable  Signor  Giovanni  Popolani.  What 
mockery,  what  misery,  what  a  mass  of  infamies  there  is  in 
this  world ! 

GIOVANNI :  I  will  make  the  most  of  our  cousins'  defection. 
They  are  not  friends  whom'  we  shall  miss,  and,  frankly,  I  am 
far  more  affected  by  the  fact  that  our  rebel  kinsmen  have 
destroyed  the  gardens  where  our  father  had  collected  so  many 
statues  and  pictures,  the  works  of  the  great  masters  of  every 
age.  The  general  looting  has  caused  the  disappearance  of 
books,  medals,  and  cameos.  There  were  things  there  that 
I  shall  always  remember — their  loss  is  irreparable. 
PIERO:  What  does  that  matter?  We  ourselves  are  lost! 
Here  we  are,  condemned  to  wander  endlessly  from  one  place 
to  another,  passing  from  the  hands  of  warm  to  those  of  cold 
friendship  and  ever  on  the  look-out  lest  some  treacherous  ally 
sell  us  to  our  foes.  For  the  time  being,  the  most  serene 
Senate  is  behaving  generously  towards  us ;  but  how  long  will 
this  last? 

BIBBIENA  :  As  long  as  the  Venetians  have  a  hatred  of 
Florence,  and  that  is  for  ever.  No,  I  say  once  more,  do  not 
despair !  In  this  world,  affairs  are  in  constant  oscillation,  veering 
from  right  to  left  and  from  left  to  right.  The  interests  of  Italy 
form  the  needle  of  the  balance,  and  for  that  reason  they  change 

69 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

even  more  rapidlx-  than  otlier  interests.  For  my  part  I  am 
convinced  that  the  Medici  will  one  day  return  to  Florence,  and 
will  recover  their  power  and  prestige. 

GIOX'ANNI  :  Indeed  1  think  that  is  probable.  France  is 
obeying  a  new  King,  this  Louis  XII.,  who,  1  am  told,  is 
possessed  of  a  thirst  for  conquest  even  more  than  the  late 
Charles  VIII.;  what  he  wants  is  not  only  Naples,  but  the 
Milanese.  An  understanding  may  perhaps  be  arrived  at ; 
besides,  Savonarola  cannot  last  for  ever.  He  is  beginning  to 
wear  out  men's  patience.  The  Republicans  are  not  united ; 
many  of  our  partisans  are  returning  to  the  city  and  are  not 
molested  there.  Why,  young  Michael  Angelo,  to  quote  no  other 
instance,  had  fled  to  Bologna,  and  the  Aldobrandini  had  even 
procured  him  work  at  San  Petronio ;  none  the  less,  he  went 
back  to  Florence  and  is  tolerated  there. 

GIULIANO  :  Better  still,  they  accept  our  money.  In 
accordance  with  your  orders,  Signor  Piero,  I  sent  some  to 
Tornabuoni.  He  writes  me  that  the  number  of  his  pensioners 
is  on  the  increase.  My  Lord  Giovanni,  will  you  come  and  visit 
Titian's  studio  ? 

GIOVANNI  :  With  pleasure.  I  will  let  you  see  my  new 
liveries  for  our  gondoliers. 

PIERO  :  Go  and  amuse  yourselves.  I  will  write  some  letters 
with  Bibbiena. 


70 


SAVONAROLA 

FLORENCE. 
A  shop  parlour. — Two  merchants  at  table. 

FIRST  MERCHANT  :  Take  another  helping  of  this  pastry. 
Fra  Girolamo's  Piagnoni  can't  see  us. 

SECOND  MERCHANT  :  You  are  very  kind.  I  have  a  weak 
digestion  and  dare  not  take  any  more.  I  repeat,  England  is 
a  country  for  making  fine  profits. 

FIRST  MERCHANT :  In  silks,  certainly,  and  still  more  in 
wines.  Last  year  I  sent  four  casks  of  rather  poor  quality 
to  my  agent  in  London.  He  made  a  good  profit.  I  willingly 
give  Englishmen  credit. 

SECOND  MERCHANT:  That's  just  what  I  say;  they're 
men  of  solid  worth. 

FIRST  MERCHANT:  All  the  more,  I  prefer  the  Flemish. 
There  are  some  really  excellent  merchants  in  Antwerp. 
SECOND  MERCHANT:  Between  ourselves,  would  it  not 
be  better  if  Fra  Girolamo — -whom,  I  beg  you  to  observe,  I 
venerate  in  other  respects — if  Fra  Girolamo  caused  to  be 
handed  over  to  us  on  easy  terms  all  the  beautiful  objects  he 
orders  to  be  destroyed  ?  Those  good  Flemings  would  buy 
them  from  us. 

FIRST  MERCHANT:  I  agree.  The  worthy  Frate  is 
unapproachable  on  that  point.  Besides,  you  cannot  speak 
to  him  so  freely  as  you  could  before.  He  gets  angry  at  the 
first  word,  and  insults  you. 

SECOND  MERCHANT:  It  must  be  confessed  that 
incorrigible  sinners  cause  him  much  heartburning. 
FIRST  MERCHANT:  Don't  speak  of  it!  I  don't  know 
how  he  resists.  Still,  he  would  have  done  better  in  keep- 
ing that  fine  golden-flowered  tapestry !  We  should  have 
sold  it,  and  that  for  ready  money.  The  prophet  is  preaching 
this  evening  at  San  Nicola.  Do  you  never  go  and  hear  him  ? 
SECOND  MERCHANT:  What  do  you  mean?  I  make  it 
a  sacred  duty,  and  would  not  for  anytliing  in  the  world  incur 
the  charge  of  lukcwarmncss  ;    for,  between  ourselves,  T"  have 

71 


TPIE    RENAISSANCE 

some  very  fine  things  here,  and  don't  want  to  attract  too  much 

attention. 

FIRST  I^IERCHANT:  My  case  precisely,  neighbour.  In 
these  sHppcry  times  one  must  be  war}^  Come!  let  us  be 
starting.  The  church  will  be  full.  Are  you  taking  a  candle? 
SECOND  MERCHANT :  I  never  fail  to,  it  looks  well.  See, 
it's  a  regular  ship's  mast ! 
FIRST  MERCHANT:  Mine  is  just  as  good. 

Exeunt,  laughing. 

Fra  Girolamo's  cell.  He  is  lying  at  full  length  on  his  couch,  covering 
his  eyes  with  his  crossed  arms.  Seated  on  stools  are  Fra  Silvestre 
Maruffi,  Fra  Domenico  Buonvicini. 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  for- 
saken me  ? 

FRA  SILVESTRE :  It  is  you,  master,  who  forsake  yourself: 
we  never  weary  of  telling  you  so. 

FRA  DOMENICO:  I,  too,  cannot  understand  this  prostra- 
tion of  your  energies. 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  strength.     May 
the  Lord  Jesus  summon  me  back  to  Him !" 

He  hides  his  face  on  the  pillow  and  weeps  loudly. 
FRA  DOMENICO :  What  a  misfortune  to  see  such  a  man 
fallen  a  prey  to  such  weakness ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  (rising  to  his  feet,  crosses  his  arms  and 
looks  at  his  friends)  :  Do  you  wish  me  to  admit  it  ?  A  burden 
has  been  weighing  on  my  heart  for  more  than  a  year.  I  must 
rid  myself  of  the  load.  Listen  to  me,  then.  I  fear  that  I  have 
blundered !  I  am  like  a  traveller  who,  having  started  for  the 
heavenly  Jerusalem,  should  find  himself  suddenly,  by  taking 
a  wrong  turning,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Flell ! 
FRA  SILVESTRE  :  But,  master,  what  is  that  you  are  in  need 
of  now?  Have  you  not  succeeded  beyond  all  expectation? 
Every  day  Florence  takes  a  new  step  on  the  road  to  perfec- 
tion; you  are  the  sole  master,  they  believe  in  none  but  you, 
they  love  none  but  you,  they  desire  none  but  you !     The  rest 

72 


SAVONAROLA 

will  come  of  itself.     The  Pope  threatens,  but  he  dare  not  act ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  I  have  blundered,  I  tell  you.     I  thought 

that  the  good  was  as  easy  to  grasp  as  to  perceive.     I  did  not 

suspect  that  action  is  usually  a  traitor  to  intention.     Benefits 

are  never  accepted,  they  must  be  imposed  by  force.     If  I 

counsel,  they  do  not  listen  to  me.     I  must  smite.     In  that 

case,  where  is  moderation  ?     Where  is  the  mean  ?     If  I  utter 

invectives,  I  am  found  to  have  cursed.     If  I  rebuke,  I  insult ; 

if  I  strike  with  the  shepherd's  crook,  it  is  a  sword  that  I  am 

steeping  in  blood,  and  I  am  killing  the  men  whom  I  seek  to 

serve.     No,  all  undergoes  a  change  under  my  hands,  in  my 

hands ;   honey  is  changed  to  gall,  softness  to  fury,  firmness 

to  ferocity !     Do  you  think  I  am  blind  to  what  my  faithful 

flock  are  doing  ?     They  are  no  better  than  wolves ! 

FRx\  SILVESTRE :  They  seem  a  little  rough  at  times,  that 

may  be  ;  but  in  general  the  results  are  excellent,  and  an  error 

of  detail  cannot  detract  from  the  merits  of  the  whole ! 

FRA   GIROLAMO :   I  serve  the  heavenly  cause  with  the 

devil's  weapons. 

FRA   DOMENICO:   King   David    had    Phihstines   for  his 

bodyguard ! 

FRA    GIROLAMO:    Oh   God!    Oh   God!     I   would   have 

nothing  but  purity  to  surround  justice !     Recall  me  hence ! 

FRA  SILVESTRE :  And  the  work,  what  will  become  of  it 

if  you  die  ? 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Come  what  may,  I  want  to  go! 

He  throws  himself  again  on  his  bed* 


73 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Night. — A  Garden. — A  Girl. — A  Lover 

THE  GIRL  :  I  am  so  frightened.  ...  If  my  brother  sus- 
pected anything!  .  .  .  Go  awa)',  I  implore  you! 
LOVER:  No!  Your  brother  is  running  about  the  streets  to 
insult  the  Piagnoni.  Don't  be  afraid  ?  You  are  afraid  ?  Well, 
calm  yourself  ;  1  will  go  !  At  any  rate,  do  you  love  me  ? 
GIRL  :  I  think  so.  ...  I  don't  know.  ...  I  love  you  just 
now.  .  .  .  Do  )'ou  wish  me  to  deceive  you  ?  Why  attach 
yourself  to  me  ?  I  am  fickle.  ...  I  do  not  know  myself.  I 
love  }'ou,  my  friend,  my  dear  friend !  To-morrow,  I  daresay 
I  shan't  love  you  any  more.  I  have  always  been  frank  with 
you. 

LOVER :  Words  like  these  are  meant  to  kill  me.  No 
matter !  I  shall  cherish  you,  adore  you,  serve  you !  I  am 
yours.     I  want  to  die  for  you ! 

GIRL  :  I  am  so  frightened !  Kiss  me  .  .  .  here  ...  on  the 
cheek.  .  .  .  Poor  Fabrizio !  ...  I  do  love  you  ...  at  this 
moment !  Why  so  distressed  ?  Have  you  not  great  work  to 
do  ?     Occupy  yourself  with  the  Medici. 

LOVER:  I  trouble  as  little  about  the  Medici  as  about  their 
adversaries.  My  only  task  is  to  love  you.  Farewell !  Five 
days  from  now  without  seeing  you ! 

GIRL  :  Five  days  ?  it's  too  much  !     Pass  this  way  to-morrow  ; 
I  may  perhaps  be  able  to  let  you  come  upstairs. 
LOVER:  And  if  I  am  observed? 
GIRL  :  It's  all  one  to  me ! 

LOVER  :  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  lovely,  so  attractive, 
so  graceful,  so  fascinating  as  you  ! 
GIRL:  Farewell!     Don't  repine.     Think  a  little  of  me,  will 

\'OU  ? 

LOVER  :  Another  kiss  ! 

GIRL :  No,  to-morrow !     Give  me  your  hand,  that's  enough. 

Farewell. 

LOVER:  Do  you  love  me? 

GIRL:  I  don't  know. 

74 


SAVONAROLA 

LOVER :  When  you've  made  ine  die  of  despair,  you'll  know, 
perhaps.     Farewell ! 


ROME 


The  Pope's  room. — Alexander  VI.  ;  Cardinal  Francesco  Piccoloinini  ;  the 

Milanese  envoy. 

CARDINAL  :  I  tell  you,  Most  Holy  Father,  if  )'ou  do  not 
make  an  end  of  Fra  Girolamo,  he  will  make  an  end  of  you. 
THE  POPE  :  You  have  a  grudge  against  him  because  he 
refused  you  five  thousand  florins.  Do  you  think  I  am  unaware 
of  your  intrigues  ?  You  are  all  up  in  arms  against  this  chatter- 
box. He  tells  you  home  truths.  Very  hard  to  bear !  He  has 
told  me  home  truths,  too !  Do  I  trouble  about  them  ?  Do  I 
make  any  pretence  of  being  a  saint  ?  I  wish  to  live  in  peace. 
Enough  of  complaints !  I  shall  not  take  any  further  notice. 
I  am  old  ;  I  will  die  quietly,  in  spite  of  you ;  I  will  set  up  my 
children.     Leave  me  in  peace  ! 

CARDINAL  :  But,  Holy  Father,  it  is  just  your  peace  that  is 
in  question.  Only  listen  to  Ludovico  Sforza's  message  to  you. 
THE  POPE  :  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  that  wearies  me 
or  puts  me  in  a  temper. 

ENVOY  :  These  are  not  words  in  the  air  that  I  am  conveying 
to  you.     I  have  facts  and  proofs. 
THE  POPE  :  Keep  them  to  yourself. 

ENVOY :   Savonarola  has  written  to  all  the  crowned  heads ; 
he  asks  for  a  Council  and  your  deposition. 
CARDINAL  :  It  is  the  absolute  truth,  and  many  princes  arc 
already  won  over. 

THE  POPE  :  Rumours  and  calumnies. 

ENVOY  :  Here  is  the  letter  to  the  King  of  France !  We 
intercepted  it  from  a  courier.  It  is  signed  by  Fra  Girolamo 
— here  is  his  seal. 

THE  POPE  :  Blood  of  the  Madonna!  The  dog,  the  wretch, 
the  coward,  the  thief,  the  scoundrel !  It  is  true  after  all !  Ah  ! 
you  desire  my  ruin !     Let  my  council  be  called  together  .  .  . 

75 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

lei  notice  be  given  to  Don  Cesare  and  Donna  Lucrezia  and 
.  .  .  Donna  Vanozza!  This  time,  it's  all  over  with  him! 
CARDINAL  :  I  told  you  it  would  have  to  come  to  this.  Your 
briefs  sneered  at,  your  orders  trampled  under  foot,  your  name 
reviled  in  the  open  pulpit  every  day,  every  hour!  He  treats 
you  as  he  would  the  most  despicable  of  men. 
THE  POPE  :  1  am  his  master,  and  he  shall  know  it!  I  will 
tear  this  Giiolamo's  soul  from  his  belly,  and  he  will  learn  what 
is  to  be  gained  by  rebelling  against  me ! 


FLORENCE, 
A  square. — A  group  of  artisans  meets  a  returning  crowd. 

A  WORKMAN  :  Hi,  you  people!     The  prophet  promised  to 

pass  through  the  flames  of  a  pyre  to  confound  his  slanderers ; 

has  he  done  it  ? 

A  CITIZEN:  He?  ...  My  word,  no! 

ANOTHER  ARTISAN:  What  ...  he  has  not?  ..  .  So  the 

Franciscans  have  lied  ? 

SECOND  CITIZEN :  Not  at  all.     Franciscans  and  Fathers 

of  San  Marco  hurled  taunts  at  each  other  from  a  safe  distance, 

and  neither  side,  after  a  day  of  debates,  has  ventured  to 

risk  the  fire,  as  they  boasted  loudly  they  would.     I  have  been 

waiting  since  this  morning  with  many  others  to  see  the  sight 

My  opinion  is  that  we  are  duped.     Era  Girolamo  is  not  worth 

much. 

A  WEAVER :  I  begin  to  think  so,  too. 

A  WOMAN :  Much  good  it  did  to  forbid  dancing.     I  have 

been  telling  you  for  some  time  past,  he  is  nothing  but  a 

hypocrite ! 

A  BAKER :  I'm  going  in  to  supper;  I  snap  my  fingers  at  all 

the  monks  in  the  universe. 


The  Palazzo  Vecchio. — Council  chanaber. — The  Gonfalonier  ;  the  Eight. 

THE    GONFALONIER:    Era    Girolamo    was    altogether 
wrong  in  putting  himself  forward   as  he  has   done  in  this 

;6 


SAVONAROLA 

affair  of  the  pyre.  As  he  was  not  certaui  of  himself,  he 
ought  not  to  have  placed  himself  imder  the  necessity  of  feebly 
backing  out.  He  is  getting  himself  into  a  very  difficult  posi- 
tion, and  dragging  us  along  with  him. 

FIRST  PRIOR:  And  the  letters  from  Rome  become  more 
threatening  every  day!  Our  spokesman,  Domenico  Bonsi, 
does  not  spare  us  their  recital.  It  would  seem  as  if  thq  Pope 
were  determined  to  make  an  end  of  him.  What  will  become 
of  our  settlement  and  of  the  popular  government  without  Fra 
Girolamo  ? 

SECOND  PRIOR:  If  we  had  not  had  him  escorted  by 
Captani  Giovacchino  and  by  Marcuccio  Salviati,  the  mob, 
furious  as  it  was  at  seeing  itself  deprived  of  a  spectacle  that 
had  been  delighting  its  imagination  for  a  fortnight,  would  have 
torn  him  to  shreds. 

GONFALONIER :  It  cannot  be  denied,  noble  signors,  that 
Fra  Girolamo's  popularity  is  considerably  on  the  wane.  The 
Medici  are  scattering  their  money  everywhere  ;  I  have  certain 
information  on  the  point.  .  .  .  Things  cannot  last  much  longer 
as  they  are.  The  Arrabbiati  and  the  Compagnacci  run  about 
the  streets  under  arms.  Let  us  come  to  a  decision.  Our  own 
safety  and  that  of  the  commonwealth  is  at  stake. 
THIRD  PRIOR  :  If  possible,  let  us  not  compromise  ourselves 
with  anyone,  with  any  party.  My  advice  is  to  send  the  Frate 
an  order  to  leave  the  city.  Follow  my  reasoning  carefully.  In 
acting  thus,  we  save  the  monk's  life,  and  it  is  as  well  to  point 
that  out  to  him  and  to  his  friends,  so  that  they  may  have  no 
doubt  of  it  and  may  not  turn  against  us ;  in  the  second  place, 
we  shall  satisfy  Rome,  since  we  seem  to  obey  its  admonitions, 
and  the  Frate  will  thereby  cease  from  his  preaching,  although 
we  shall  have  made  no  decree  to  that  end ;  thirdly,  we  rob 
the  partisans  of  the  Medici  of  all  pretext  for  raising  a  riot, 
seeing  that  the  presumptive  cause  of  the  discord  will  be 
removed.     Do  you  agree  ? 

GONFALONIER:   Are  we  to  deliberate  on  this  proposal, 
gentlemen  ? 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

PRIORS  :  Certainly,  certainly.     There  are  good  points  about 
the  suggestion. 


Iho   country    near    l-'lorence. — The   Arno  in   the   background  ;   meadows 

and  trees. 
A  YOUNG  ENGRAVER  =  Ihis  new  work  of  Albrecht  Durer 
1  find  very  absorbing!  I  fear  that  we  Italians  cannot  yet 
make  the  most  of  Finiguerra's  invention.  Yet  it  is  the  glory 
of  the  Florentines!  I  will  study  the  German  manner;  I  will 
discover  its  processes,  and  if  I  don't  do  better,  or  at  least  quite 
as  well,  I  shall  die  of  despair. 


FLORENCE. 

The  cou\ent  of  San  Marco. — The  choir  of  the  church. —A  great  crowd, 
wherein  most  of  the  men  are  armed  ;  monks,  hkewise  armed  ;  Fra 
Girolamo,  Fra  Silvestre,  Fra  Sacromoro,  Fra  Buonvicini,  Francesco 
Valori,  Luca  degli  Albizzi,  Vespuccio. 

FRA   GIROLAMO:     Calm   yourselves,    my    brothers!    my 

children !     It  is  the  moment  for  showing  yourselves  intrepid ! 

Do  not  let  yourselves  be  a  prey  to  fear,  nothing  is  in  danger! 

FRA  SACRO.MORO  :   Rest  assured,  my  Father!     We  shall 

all  die  rather  than  abandon  you. 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  It  is  God  vv'hom  you  must  serve,  not  me. 

FRA  SILVESTRE  :  What  mean  those  howls? 

FRA  BUONVICINI :  The  enemy  is  entering  the  church.     A 

terrible  mob !     Brutal  faces ! 

LUCA  DEGLI  ALBIZZI :  Don't  let  us  lose  a  minute.     Fra 

Girolamo,  give  the  order  to  load ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Can  you  think  of  such  a  thing?     In  the 

Lord's  temple ! 

LUCA  DEGLI  ALBIZZI :  Are  you  jesting?     Is  it  better  to 

be  massacred?     Let  us  attack  before  they  attack  us,  and  I 

promise  you  we  shall  still  be  the  stronger. 

FRANCESCO  VALORI :  For  mercy's  sake,  Messer  Luca,  no 

madness!     Restrain  yourself!     The  Medici's  supporters  will 

not  fail  to  say  that  we  are  provoking  them.     Let  us  show 

ourselves  generous. 

78 


SAVONAROLA 

LUCA  DEGLI  ALBIZZI :  Show  yourselves  blockheads! 
The  chill  of  cowardice  is  creeping  over  you,  and  you  are  not 
sorry  to  call  that  disease  prudence.  Go!  go!  you  are  lost!  I 
have  no  desire  to  deliver  my  bones  to  these  wretches,  and  I  am 
leaving  Florence ;  let  them  come  to  my  house,  and  they  will 
get  a  shower  of  arquebusades  there !  Farewell !  Let  those 
who  have  warm  blood  in  their  veins  be  marching ! 

Draws  his  sword  ;  exit,  surrounded  by  his  friends. 
SEVERAL  VOICES  :  We  follow  you!  we  follow  you! 

Discharge  of  musketry.  A  man  comes  up  running. 
THE  RUNNER  =  Fra  Girolamo !  Where  is  Fra  Girolamo  ? 
FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Here  I  am! 

THE  RUNNER:  The  Signiory  banish  you!  the  Com- 
pagnacci  bring  you  the  order !  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God !  Their 
one  desire  is  to  murder  you!  They  are  more  than  eight 
hundred !  more  than  three  thousand !  They  are  running  up ! 
They  have  just  killed  two  men !  Here  they  are !  Hide 
yourself!  save  yourself! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  (to  the  monks):  To  your  cells,  brothers! 
...  If  die  one  must,  it  is  there !  .  .  .  O  Florence !  Florence ! 

Great  uproar,  the  women  shriek  and  fly  into  the  chapels.  The 
Compagnacci  and  the  Arrabbiati  fire  their  cross-bows,  shout  and 
belabour  the  crowd. 

A  COMPAGNACCO  :  Be  off,  you  scum !     The  Signory  con- 
fiscates all  the  property  of  laymen  who  remain  here ! 
FRANCESCO  VALORI  (to  his  officer) :  Is  this  true,  sir? 
OFFICER:    Absolutely  true!     The    Eight   have  no   other 
idea  than  to  restore  order,  and  I  advise  you  to  withdraw. 
VALORI  :  So  you  wish  to  kill  Fra  Girolamo? 
THE  OFFICER  :  On  the  contrary,  we  wish  for  peace,  and  to 
that  end  we  are  separating  the  combatants. 
FRA  SACROMORO  :  It's  a  scandal. 

A  COMPAGNACCO:  Hold  your  tongue,  fat  monk,  or  I'll 
rip  your  guts  out! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  The  crowd  is  overpowering  us.  Let  us 
go  into  the  cloisters. 

K  79 


TIIR    RENAISSANCE 

ERA   SACROMORO:Let   us    ring   the   bells   to  warn   our 

people. 

VALORI  :    I    entreat    you,    do    nothing    of    the    sort!     Be 

moderate  !     Be  calm  !     Be  self-restrained  !     I'll  run  and  urge 

the  Priors  to  put  an  end  to  all  this. 

ERA  BETONVICINI :  Let  us  defend  ourselves!     To  arms! 

The  monks  with  difficulty  drag  Fra  Girolamo  into  the  convent  and 
close  the  doors.     Fighting  in  the  church. 

A  dilapidated,  barely  furnished  room. — Ser  Bernardo  Nerli  ;  his  wife,  a 
sick  child  sleeping  in  a  cradle. 

SER  BERNARDO :  Eight  soldi  for  a  will  and  four  soldi  for 
the  grant ;  that  makes  twelve  soldi.  Add  seven  deniers  for 
the  old  yellow  coat  I  have  just  sold,  that  gives  us  twelve  soldi, 
seven  deniers. 

WIEE :  I  think  the  child  is  less  feverish. 
SER  BERNARDO:  May  heaven  hear  you,  my  love!  .  .  . 
Yes,  he  is  not  so  red.  ...  I  resume !  .  .  .  Twelve  soldi,  seven 
deniers !  Then,  too,  our  neighbour  the  tailor  has  promised 
me  a  measure  of  corn  for  the  sonnet  which  I  have  to  give 
him  this  evening,  on  the  occasion  of  his  niece's  betrothal. 
WIEE :  It's  a  piece  of  great  good  fortune  ;  and  we  still  have 
half  the  quarter  of  kid  left. 

SER  BERNARDO:  I  think  then  we  may  consider  ourselves 
raised  above  penury. 

WIFE :  But  I  said  so  yesterday ;  I  should  have  no  anxiety,  if 
only  the  little  one.  were  better ! 

SER  BERNARDO:  Oh,  my  dearest!  .  .  .  May  God  pre- 
serve him  to  us ! 

Arquebusades  are  heard. 
When  will  they  have  ended  their  din,  those  ruffians!  Fra 
Girolamo  and  his  adversaries,  I  should  like  to  see  them  in  the 
hottest  of  hells !  So  long  as  they  exist,  there  will  be  no  means 
of  earning  a  livelihood ! 

WIFE :  Ah,  you're  right  indeed !  Instead  of  preaching  and 
talking  so  much,  they'd  do  better  to  let  us  work ! 

80 


SAVONAROLA 

SER  BERNARDO  :  I'm  going  to  write  my  sonnet.  .  .  .  And 

the  child  ? 

WIFE  :  He's  better. 

SER  BERNARDO  :  Kiss  me  ! 


Before  the  house  of  Francesco  Valori. — Vincenzo  Ridolfi,  Torrabuoni,  a 
crowd  of  Compagnacci  and  Arrabbiati  ;  they  knock  with  redoubled 
blows  on  the  door  to  break  it  in. 

VALORI'S  WIFE  (at  a  window) :  My  good  Signors,  I  swear 

to  you,  my  husband  is  not  here.     Oh,  my  God !  my  God ! 

RIDOLFI:  Where  is  he  hiding?     Answer,  hussy!     Where 

is  he,  the  coward? 

THE  WIFE :  Signor  Ridolfi,  for  pity's  sake ! 

TORNABUONI :  Knock  down  that  cursed  door  for  me,  you 

people  !     Will  you  soon  have  done  ? 

CRIES  OF  ASSAILANTS:  Victory!     The  place  is  open! 

Plunder  I  plunder  I 

The  door  falls  ;  the  crowd  rushes  into  the  house. 

RIDOLFI :  Take  that  creature  ! 

TORNABUONI :  No  mercy  for  the  Valori !     Remember  the 

Medici ! 

The  wife  and  her  child  are  taken  prisoners 

THE  WIFE:    Mercy!     Mercy!     My  husband  is  absent,    I 
swear  it ! 

RIDOLFI :  But  I  have  got  you  !     On  your  knees !  wretch,  on 
your  knees  !     Kill  that  wolf's  whelp  ! 

The  woman  utters  fearful  cries  ;  she  is  seized  by  the  hair  and  stabbed 
on  her  child's  body. 

VALORI  (running  up):  What  are  they  doing?     My  God! 

What  are  you  doing  ?     My  wife !  my  nephew !  .  .  .  Ridolfi ! 

murderer ! 

RIDOLFI  (piercing  him  with  his  sword):  Here's  for  your 

insults! 

Valori  falls  ;  he  is  killed,  and  the  populace,  with  shouts,  drags  his 
corpse  on  the  pavement. 

K   2  8l 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

The  interior  of  the  convent  of  San  Marco. — The  cloisters  ;  the  monk* 
Fra  Girolamo  ;  the  howling  mob  invades  the  courtyard. 

FRA  GIROLAMO:  What  do  they  want? 

FRA  BUONVICLMI:  To  take  you!     I  will  not  leave  your 

side. 

FRA   GIROLAMO:   But  what  harm   have   I   done   them? 

They  loved  me  yesterday !     No  matter !     Resist,  my  children ! 

FRA  SACROMORO:   Enough  of  uTiperilling  the  convent. 

You  are  our  shepherd ;   the  good  shepherd  gives  his  life  for 

his  flock. 

FRA  GIROLAMO:  Yes!  you  are  right.     I  will  go  to  my 

death.     Ungrateful  people,  what  do  you  want? 

AN   OPTIMIST:    The    Signiory   merely   asks   you  to   give 

yourself  up.     We  don't  intend  doing  you  any  harm. 

A  hail  of  stones  is  thrown  at  Fra  Girolamo. 
A  COMPAGNACCO  (striking  him  with  his  fist) :  Prophesy 
who  is  striking  you  ! 
ANOTHER:  There!     Take  this  kick,  too! 

A  third  twists  his  fingers  ;  he  utters  a  cry 
A  WOMAN :  Ah,  the  coward,  he's  crying  I 
AN  ARRABBIATO:  Come  along!     The  Eight  are  asking 

for  you  I 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  I'm  coming !     Don't  injure  my  brothers ! 

Ah,  Florence  !     All  is  over  ! 


A  room  in  the  Palazzo  Vecchio. — The  commissaries  of  the  Pope,  Romolino, 
and  Father  Torriano,  general  of  the  Dominicans  ;  the  Gonfalonier 
Piero  Popolesclii. 
POPOLESCHI:   We  have  done   all  for  the  best,  and  we 
hope  that  His  Holiness  will  be  satisfied. 
ROMOLINO  :  That  remains  to  be  seen. 
POPOLESCHI :  We  have  had  Fra  Girolamo  condemned  to 
the  stake  and  to  be  hanged  afterwards.     What  more  do  you 
want?     His  two  acolytes,  Fra  Silvestre  and  Fra  Buonvicini, 
will  suffer  the  same  penalty.     Not  gentle  measures !     Finally, 
the  chief  Piagnoni  are  either  exiled  or  fined  ;    Pagolantonio 
Soderini    is   fined   three   thousand   florins,    and   Ser   Niccolo 

82 


SAVONAROLA 

Machiavelli,  who  is  as  poor  as  Job,  two  hundred  and  fifty. 
I  do  not  know  what  more  can  be  expected  of  us. 
ROMOLINO  :  You  have  taken  some  time  to  atone  for  your 
errors,  Signor  Gonfalonier. 

POPOLESCHI:  What  do  you  expect?  We  had  to  please 
the  people  and  howl  with  the  wolves.  When  the  wind 
changed,  we  were  delighted  to  go  in  the  right  direction,  and 
you  see  what  we  have  done. 

ROMOLINO:  It's  not  so  bad.  Now,  to  work!  We  are 
charged  with  examining  your  way  of  procedure  in  Fra 
Girolamo's  trial,  but,  whatever  we  find  out,  we  shall  make  a 
good  fire,  because  I  bear  with  me  the  condemnation.  Bring 
in  the  witnesses. 

The  monks  of  San  Marco  are  brought  in. 
Good-day,  good-day,  my  Fathers.  You  know  what  tne  culprit 
has  dared.  You  have  seen  him  at  work.  Explain  yourselves. 
Is  he  justly  condemned  ?  I  ask  the  one  who  has  been  pointed 
out  to  me  as  the  most  honest.  Father  Malatesta  Sacromoro, 
come  forward! 

FRA  SACROMORO :  Monsignore,  for  seven  years  we  have 
believed   what   Fra   Girolamo   taught.     He    was   our   Vicar- 
General.     He  abused  his'  authority  over  our  minds. 
ROMOLINO :  At  any  rate,  you  are  thoroughly  convinced 
of  that,  from  now  on? 
FRA  SACROMORO  :  Profoundly. 

ROMOLINO :  This  is  a  worthy  man.     So,  my  friend,  you 
consider  the  counts  of  the  indictment  perfectly  authentic. 
FRA  SACROMORO :  Certainly,  Monsignore. 
ROMOLINO :  In  your  opinion,  it  is  with  reason  that  Fra 
Girolamo  and  his  accomplices  have  been  condemned  by  the 
justice  temporal? 

FRA  SACROMORO  :   I  see  no  objection. 
ROMOLINO  :    I  commend  your  candour  and  the  spirit  of 
truth    that    animates   you.     Withdraw,    my    friend ;    let    the 
culprits  be  brought  in. 

The  soldiers  bring  Fra  Girolamo,  Fra  Silvestre,  and  Fra  Buonvicini, 
bound  with  cords 

83 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ROMOLINO  :  Fra  Girolamo,  you  are  aware  that  your  most 
reverend  General  and  myself  represent  His  Holiness,  the  Pope, 
here,  and  that  we  are  sufficiently  cognisant  of  all  your  impos- 
tures. It  would  avail  you  nothing  to  tell  us  falsehoods.  Make 
any  statement  you  wish  in  your  defence. 

FRA  GIROLAIMO  :  For  seven  years  I  have  preached  in  this 
city.  1  have  done  my  best  to  establish  in  it  morality  and  the 
love  of  God.  I  may  often  have  been  mistaken.  I  am  only  a 
poor  human  being,  and  as  such  I  have  erred  ;  but  I  have  aimed 
at  nothing  but  good. 

ROMOLINO:  You  are  impudent!  You  have  lied  like  a 
devil !  Your  own  depositions  bear  witness  to  that,  and  it  is  an 
excess  of  insolence  to  come  here  and  use  such  language  as 
you  do! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  My  flesh  is  weak  and  does  not  support 
my  soul.  I  confess  it  with  tears  :  I  have  sinned  against  truth 
in  declaring  on  the  rack  what  is  not  true.  I  am  unable  to 
endure  torture.  But  I  disavow  the  words  wrenched  from  me 
by  pain. 

ROMOLINO  :  Come,  come,  we  are  not  your  dupes!  What 
you  confessed  is  our  property !  We  believe  it !  You  arc 
acting  a  part  now ! 

F"RA  BUONVICINI :  It  is  you  who  are  insulting  a  saint! 
God  will  punish  you ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO  :  Alas,  my  toil,  my  pain,  my  labour,  my 
desire  to  do  good,  have  profited  nothing!  I  wished  to  save 
the  faith  ;  I  have  failed !  My  illusions  are  shattered.  I  have 
followed  will-o'-the-wisps.  Better  that  I  should  die — I  have 
long  yearned  for  death. 

ROMOLINO:  This  is  past  all  bearing!  Let  this  obstinate 
man  be  put  to  the  torture  again,  otherwise  he  will  do'  nothing 

but  contradict  us. 

The  torturers  seize  Fra  Girolamo. 


84 


SAVONAROLA 

On  the  Palazzo  square. — The  scaffold.  A  flying  plank-bridge  leads  from 
the  Ringhiera  to  the  platform  of  the  stake. — A  crowd  ;  a  number  of 
children  are  sharpening  sticks  with  knives. 

A  CITIZEN  :  We  have  a  good  hour  to  wait,  beheve  me.  I 
know  our  Governors'  way.  They  don't  trouble  themselves  in 
the  least  to  gratify  us.  Oh,  that  we  were  still  under  the  eegis 
of  Lorenzo  the  Alagnificent  or  his  illustrious  house ! 
SECOND  CITIZEN  :  I  think  we  shall  have  to  come  back  to 
that  some  day. 

FIRST  WOMAN:  Oh,  what  a  pretty  child!  Is  he  yours, 
Monna  Teresa? 

SECOND  WOMAN  :  Yes,  my  dear.     He's  my  eldest. 
FIRST  WOMAN:    Kiss  me,  cherub!     Look  at  his   lovely 
black  hair !     What  are  you  doing  there  with  your  pretty  play- 
mates ? 

THE  CHILD  :  We  are  giving  our  sticks  a  good  sharp  point. 
SECOND  CITIZEN  :  And  what  for,  little  monkey? 
THE  CHILD  :  To  prick  Fra  Girolamo's  feet  and  legs  when 
he  comes  past  on  the  bridge.     We  shall  stand  underneath,  and 
zing!  zing! 

Laughter. 

FIRST  WOMAN:  Little  mischiefs,  indeed!  Little  mis- 
chiefs !  Come  and  let  me  kiss  you,  darling !  Isn't  he  a 
pretty  child ! 

FIRST  CITIZEN :  Happy  the  state  where  childhood  learns 
early  to  share  in  public  sentiment ! 


ON  THE  SCAFFOLD. 

Fra  Girolamo,  Fra  Silvestre,  Fra  Buonvicini. — Fra  Niccolini,  confessor  to 
Fra  Girolamo. 

FRA  NICCOLINI  (to  Fra  Girolamo) :  I  could  not  venture  to 

speak  of  resignation  to  you,  Father,  who  have  prayed  so  much 

for  this  unhappy  people  ! 

FRA  GIROLAMO:  Give  me  your  blessing! 

BUONVICINI :  May  I  suffer  far  more  for  the  glory  of  God! 

Why  not  burn  us  before  hanging  us?     It  would  be  carrying 

out  the  letter  of  our  sentence. 

85 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ERA  GIROLAMO:  My  friend,  my  son,  forget  not  that  we 

have  nothing  to  do  save  what  is  the  will  of  Him  Who  is  in 

the  heavens ! 

ERA  SILVESTRE :  I  will  address  this  misguided  mob ! 

ERA  GIROLAMO:   No,  Silvestre,  if  you   love   me,  not  a 

syllable !  .  .  .  Poor  Elorence !  .  .  .  Poor  Italy !  .  .  .  I  would 

have  given  so  much  to  save  them  !  .  .  .  Why  do  they  make  us 

wait  like  this  ? 

CAPTAIN  GIOVACCHINO  :  It's  that  brute  the  Bishop  of 

Vaison,  who,   instead  of  coming  to  degrade  you,  as    he   is 

charged  to  do,  goes  on  chatting  with  the  commissaries! 


The  crowd  before  the  stake  and  the  gibbets. — Populace,  monks,  citizens, 
women,  cliildren. 

A  MAN :  He  was  roundly  tortured,  the  villain ! 

A  WOMAN :  What  did  they  do  to  him  ? 

A  MAN :  He  received  the  strappado  more  than  six  times. 

That's  tough — what?     He's  broken  in  every  limb. 

Laughter. 
A  CHILD  :  Well  done  ! 

A  AIERCHANT  :  You  little  rascal,  they  ought  to  do  the  same 

to  you  for  having  broken  the  mirrors  in  my  shop  a  fortnight 

ago. 

THE  CHILD :  Oh,  I  was  told  to  break  them,  and  so  I  broke 

them ! 

AN   OLD  WOMAN:   The  child's  right!     We've  all  been 

befooled  by  this  brute,  who  condemned  us  to  fast  from  one 

year's  end  to  another! 

AN  ARTISAN :  What  fools  we  were !  ...  Ah,  he's  climbing 

up  the  ladder!      There  he  is  at  the  top!  .  .  .  Aren't  they 

going  to  burn  him  alive? 

A  GIRL :  I  hope  they  are.     Tell  me,  signor  soldier,  isn't  he 

to  be  burnt? 

THE  SOLDIER :  He'll  be  hanged  first,  my  pretty  lass. 

THE  GIRL :  Oh,  what  a  pity !     I've  come  such  a  long  way 

to  see  the  sight !     Thank  you,  signor  soldier. 

86 


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To  /acr  pa;ff  H6 


SAVONAROLA 

THE  SOLDIER:    At  your  service,  my  beauty.     You  can 

come  forward  a  bit,  if  you  wish.     Put  yourself  in  front  of  me, 

there !  .  .  .  You'll  be  more  comfortable. 

THE  GIRL  :  Quite  true — come  along,  Mariana !     No,  please 

don't  take  hold  of  my  waist  like  that !  .  .  .  Who  are  those 

two  other  men  who  are  going  up  at  Fra  Girolamo's  side  ? 

A  LOCKSZ^IITH  :  What,  you  don't  recognise  them  ?     I  never 

missed  a  single  one  of  their  sermons,  I  assure  you,  during  the 

time  I  was  deceived !     It  is  Fra  Silvestre  and  Fra  Buonvicini ! 

THE  GIRL:  How  pale  they  are! 

A  BUTCHER :  Ah,  that's  because  they've  been  tortured  also 

— serve  them  right ! 

THE  GIRL :  I  implore  you,  signor  soldier,  let  me  go !  .  .  . 

Tell  me,  rather,  who  are  those  two  signors  gesticulating  on 

the  stage. 

THE   SOLDIER :    They   are   the   Papal  commissaries,   my 

queen !  .  .  .  Their  names  are My  word,  I've  forgotten 

their  names  !  I'd  much  rather  you  told  me  where  you  live  ! 
AN  OLD  LADY  (with  a  dog  in  her  arms) :  Is  it  true  that  the 
reverend  Fra  Girolamo  was  tortured  with  the  pincers  ? 
A  CITIZEN :  There  is  every  reason  to  suppose  so.  At  the 
same  time,  it  may  also  be  that  I  am  mistaken,  and  am  leading 
you  astray,  which,  as  you  can  believe,  I  should  be  very  sorry 
to  do. 

THE   OLD   LADY:   I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
kindness.     (The  dog  barks  at  the  citizen.)     Be  quiet,  my  pet. 
Pardon  him,  messer ;   it's  because  he  doesn't  know  you. 
THE  CITIZEN  :  That  kind  of  quadruped  usually  does  behave 
in  that  way.     I  am  not  offended,  madam. 

He  moves  off. 


ON    THE   SCAFFOLD. 

The  three  condemned   men,   the   Bishop    of  Vaison,  Dominican   monks, 
executioners. 

THE  BISHOP  :  Fra  Sebastiano,  strip  this  man  of  the  holy 
habit  of  your  Order!  .  .  .  Take  off  everything!     Leave  him 

8; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

only  his  shirt !    Is  it  done  ?    Good  !  .  .  .  And  now,  Savonarola, 

1    sever    )'ou    from    the    Church    militant    and    the    Church 

triumphant ! 

SAVONAROLA;  That  last  act  is  beyond  your  power! 

THE  BISHOP:  Have  his  accomplices  been  stripped? 

FRA  SEBAS TIANO :  Yes,  Consignor,  here  they  are  in  their 

shirts,  like  him. 

THE  BISHOP:  He  shall  see  them  executed.     Hangmen,  to 

)'Our  work ! 

FRA  SILVESTRE  :  ///  manits  tuas,  Domine* 

He  is  hanged. 

BUONVICINI :  My  turn,  is  it  not  ?     Farewell,  Fra  Girolamo ! 
SAVONAROLA :  Farewell  for  a  moment,  you  mean. 

Buonvicini  is  hanged. 

THE  BISHOP:  And  now  for  you,  arch-heretic! 

Savonarola  looks  at  the  crowd  ;  the  executioners  seize  him. 


IN   THE    SQUARE. 
A  CITIZEN  (to  his  wife):  It  was  rather  a  fme  ceremony  — 
imposing,  even!     But  I  think  it's  going  to  rain.  .  .  .  Let's 
go  home. 

THE  WIFE:   Yes,  my  love,  let's  go   home.     I'm  afraid  I 
might  catch  cold. 


Messer  Niccolo  Machiavelli's  house. — A  room  ;  Machia^Tlli  is  sitting  at 
a  table  covered  M'ith  piles  of  books  and  papers. — It  is  evening. — 
TwiUght. 

MACHIAVELLI:  Poor  Girolamo!  ...  So  they  have 
finished  with  him !  .  .  .  They  tracked  him  down  for  years,  and 
at  last  they  have  run  him  to  earth  .  .  .  surrounded  .  .  .  taken 
.  .  .  killed  him !  It  was  the  only  possible  ending !  .  .  .  The 
man  lived  in  a  dream!  .  .  .  He  had  built  up  for  himself,  from 
his  earliest  years,  a  poem  of  religion,  purity,  honour,  wisdom, 
uprightness.  Because  he  imagined  the  realisation  of  all  these 
good  and  beautiful   fancies    to  be  possible,  he   took   it  for 

*  Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord. — Tr. 

88 


SAVONAROLA 

granted,  and  did  not  see  that  the  less  the  world  knows  of  such 
things,  the  more  it  talks  about  them.  Poor  Girolamo! 
Because  he  was  innocent  of  all  excessive  passions,  neither  a 
gambler,  nor  a  libertine,  nor  a  miser,  nor  a  spendthrift,  nor  a 
coxcomb,  nor  a  clown,  he  thought  the  human  beings  around 
him  perfectly  capable  of  ridding  themselves  of  all  evil,  and  it 
never  even  entered  his  head  that  the  greater  part  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  if  not  almost  all  .  .  .  yes,  my  God  !  we  may  as  well  say 
all,  with  a  few  exceptions  .  .  .  are  hewn  like  the  idols  of  the 
Moabites,  with  eyes  that  see  not  and  ears  that  hear  not.  There 
is  no  risk  at  all  in  displaying  to  them  at  leisure  the  whole 
stock  of  virtues.  They  will  never  understand  what  it  all 
means,  and  will  end  by  laughing  like  boobies.  Poor 
Girolamo !  To  suppose  that  purity  is  anything  but  a  mere 
abstraction,  a  special  attribute  of  some  few  isolated  souls !  .  .  . 
And  in  consequence  of  this  blunder,  of  this  most  serious 
blunder,  he  tried  to  establish  in  our  midst  the  reign  of 
peace,  liberty  and  justice,  for  which  we  are  paying  by  civil 
war,  violation  of  rights,  massacres,  blood  on  the  pavements  of 
the  streets,  and  your  own  death,  Savonarola,  and,  what  is  more, 
the  certain  return  of  the  Medici !  This  is  the  result  of  laying- 
down  false  premisses  and  blinding  oneself  to  the  true  nature 
of  men.  .  .  .  Hapless  creatures !  For  myself,  I  have  never 
been  more  clear-sighted,  and  I  now  bid  an  everlasting  fare- 
well to  the  illusions  b)-  whicli  I  was  once  spellbound.  For  a 
while  my  combinations  of  liberty  and  order  led  me  astray. 
Piero  Soderini  had  a  juster  vision.  I  stand  corrected.  But 
henceforth,  in  the  name  of  heaven !  what  must  we  aim  at  ? 
Is  our  poor  Italy  condemned  to  bear  for  ever  the  yoke  of 
petty  despots  and  street-corner  tyrants  ?  Is  she  a  defenceless 
prey  to  the  attacks  of  pitiless  foreigners  ?  Can  one  not 
conceive  for  her,  without  being  guilty  of  foolish  idealism, 
some  higher  fate  than  the  shameful  orgies  in  which  we 
are  wallowing  ?  Italy,  Italy,  mother  of  so  many  great  men, 
hearth  of  so  many  fires,  rallying-point  of  so  many  forces !  .  .  . 
If  among  the  ruffians  who  drench  us  every  day  with  blood  there 

89 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

were  only  a  Sulla,  an  Octavius — in  times  of  tumult,  in  epochs 
of  convulsion  like  ours,  such  strokes  of  luck  are  normal,  they 
are  a  part  of  the  inevitable !  Now  who  could  be  that 
Mahomet  .  .  .  that  Tamerlane  .  .  .  that  robber  Saviour?  A 
Sforza?  .  .  .  No!  .  .  .  they  are  empty  sepulchres  ...  A 
Gonzaga!  .  .  .  Still  less!  ...  A  Malatesta  ...  A  Baglione 
...  A  Bentivoglio  ?  .  .  .  To  lord  it  over  a  city  by  means  of  a 
few  dozen  cut-throats,  they  have  no  loftier  ideal  than  that !  .  .  . 
To  murder,  poison,  betra)-,  rise,  fall  .  .  .  that  is  their  lot! 
Always  the  same  game.  .  .  .  But  in  the  midst  of  this  insolent 
and  ferocious  gang,  I  mark  one  nevertheless  ....  He  is  a 
whole  head  taller  than  the  rest.  .  .  .  He  has  other  and  higher 
aims.  He  is  no  less  perverse ;  he  wants  infinitely  more,  and 
that  is  an  enormous  advantage !  What  a  singular  and  formid- 
able being!  Shrewd  and  cunning  as  the  dragon,  treacherous 
as  the  leopard,  ambitious  as  the  eagle,  he  is  not  afraid  of 
shouting  aloud  in  the  face  of  our  terror-stricken  intriguers : 
Aui  CcBsar,  ant  nihil!*  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  through 
all  these  crimes,  and  on  the  bleeding  mass  of  disasters  heaped 
up  by  the  murderous  rectitude  of  Girolamo,  we  were  some  day 
saved  by  the  corrupt  cleverness  and  audacity  of  Cesare  Borgia ! 
But  what  a  noise !  Oh,  it's  nothing.  .  .  .  It's  Monna  Marietta, 
my  wife  .  .  ,  She  is  scolding  the  maid.  I  am  going  out  so 
as  to  avoid  being  scolded  myself ;  I  have  other  matters  to 
consider. 


END    OF    THE    FIRST    PART 


*  Either  Cesare  or  nothing. — Tr. 
90 


SECOND    PART 


CESARE     BORGIA 


CESENA. 
1502. 

The  esplanade  before  the  citadel. — Tents  ;  military  booths  ;  French  and 
Itahan  men-at-arms. — Don  Michele,  captain  of  adventurers  and 
intimate  of  Don  Cesare  Borgia,  chatting  with  Mgr.  Burchard,  maste  r 
of  ceremonies  to  the  Pope.  They  are  walldng  up  and  down,  their 
hands  behind  their  backs. 

DON  MICHELE  :  While  our  master  dictates  his  dispatches, 
let  us  withdraw,  and  I  will  inform  you  of  what  His  Holiness 
desires  to  know. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD:  We  may  as  well  stay  here.  These 
Frenchmen  do  not  understand  a  word  of  what  we  are  saying. 
DON  MICHELE:  You  are  right.  We  must  not  look  too 
much  as  if  we  were  seeking  solitude  and  harbouring  mysteries. 
Mgr.  BURCHARD:  Don  Cesare  seems  lost,  hopelessly  lost! 
His  condottieri,  leagued  against  him,  have  taken  his  strong- 
holds one  after  another !  The  Duchy  of  Urbino  is  in  revolt ; 
the  former  prince  has  been  received  with  acclamations  by  the 
very  people  who  so  joyfully  hailed  his  departure.  In  a  vv^ord, 
the  worst  has  befallen  you ;  you  cannot  extricate  yourself 
from  the  toils.  Such  is  our  view  at  Rome. 
DON  MICHELE  :  You  forget  a  fundamental  point.  Whence 
comes  our  strength  ? 

Mgr.  BURCHARD :  Ah,  you  will  tell  me  that  Alexander  VI. 
is   behind  you,  that  you  are  supported  by   his  hand.     But 

consider 

DON  MICHELE:  One  word  only!     Alexander  VI.  made 

us  a  cardinal ;  who  made  us  a  prince  ? 

Mgr.  BURCHARD:   Louis  XII.,  King  of  France;    but  he 

IS  withholding  his  protection  from  you,  turning  against  you, 

even  threatening  you,  we  hear. 

DON  MICHELE  :  You  fail  to  go  beneath  the  surface.     Why 

did  Louis  XII.  show  us  favour? 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  Because  of  the  Cardinal  d'Amboise. 

DON  MICHELE  :  Admirable  !     We  promised  d'Amboise  the 

succession  to  Alexander  ;  we  are  still  promising  that.    Besides, 

93 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

we  are  useful  people  ;  our  services  have  some  weight,  and,  to 

go  no  further,  the  recent  expeditions  to  the  Milanese  and  to 

Naples  are  our  work.     God  be  praised,  we  proved  at  the  sack 

of  Capua  that  we  were  men  of  energy ! 

Mgr.    BURCHARD:    The    deuce    you    did!     You    spared 

nothing.     But  your  happiness  has  withered  like  the  grass  of 

the  fields ;   see  how  it  is  mown  down  by  the  very  hand  that 

sowed  the  seed. 

DON  MICHELE  :  You  are  mistaken.     I  have  just  come  back 

from  Milan  with  my  Lord.     Our  affairs  are  set  in  order  again  ; 

we  are  in  higher  favour  than  ever ;  my  Lord  spoke  and  acted 

so  skilfully  that  there  was  no  chance  of  being  hard  on  us  for 

our  little  peccadilloes. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD:  The  Pope  will  be  delighted  with  this 

news,  but  it  should  have  come  sooner.     There  is  nothing  left 

for  you  to  save.     While  you  were  quenching  the  flames  on  the 

right,  they  gained  ground  on  the  left  and  consumed  everything. 

DON  MICHELE :  Come,  come,  Monsignor  Burchard,  don't 

always  look  on  the  seamy  side  of  things  like  this ! 

Mgr.  BURCHARD :  Your  strongholds  taken  or  in  revolt! 

DON  MICHELE :  Well,  we  shall  re-take  them. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  How  ?     You  have  no  more  troops.     The 

Orsini,  the  Duke  of  Gravina  with  Pagolo,  had  hired  you  out 

their  companies ;  now  they  have  changed  sides  and,  from  that 

very  cause,  here  you  are  at  loggerheads  with  all  their  house ! 

DON  MICHELE :  It's  a  nuisance.     We  shall  have  our  work 

cut  out.     Above  all,  I  regret  Vitellozzo  VitelH ;  he  is  a  great 

warrior  I     Nor  do  I  console  myself  more  easily  ion  the  defection 

of  Oliverotto  da  Fermo.     But  all  the  same,  I  repeat,  nothing 

is  lost. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  You  are  not  unaware  that  the  Venetians 

have  declared  against  you? 

DON  MICHELE  :  I  know  it  only  too  well. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD ;  The  Aragonese  are  about  to  attack  yoa 

DON  MICHELE  :  That  we  must  expect. 

94 


CESARE     BORGIA 


tefait  page  94 


CESARE    BORGIA 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  You  have  not  a  ducat  left,  and  the  Holy 
Father  is  not  in  a  position  to  make  you  any  advance. 
DON  MICHELE  :  We  can,  however,  find  ways  and  means  by 
promises. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD:  The  Florentines  will  not  fail  to  join 
forces  with  your  opponents. 

DON  MICHELE  :  There  you  are  mistaken.  A  secretary  of 
the  Signiory  has  just  arrived.  When  men  negotiate,  they  do 
not  strike. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD:  Holy  Madonna!  Have  you  seen  this 
secretary? 

DON  MICHELE  .-  I  received  him  myself  and  shook  hands 
with  him.  He  is  no  phantom  created  by  hope,  but  really  one 
of  our  friends,  Messer  Niccolo  Machiavelli. 
Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it!  .  .  .  But  in 
reality,  nothing  can  avail  you,  I  see  you  are  too  far  gone ! 
DON  MICHELE  :  Allow  me  to  show  you  things  in  a  less 
gloomy  light 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  You  are  certainly  coolness  incarnate, 
but  I  doubt  whether  the  Pope  considers  you  infallible. 
DON  MICHELE  :  If,  like  you,  I  only  took  into  account  the 
goodwill  of  Louis  XII.,  the  hundred  lances  furnished  by  that 
worthy  Mgr.  de  Candalle — whom  I  see  over  there  eating  his 
clove  of  garlic  like  the  true  Gascon  he  is — the  handful  of 
Italian  companies  that  remain  to  us,  the  shifty  diplomacy  of  the 
Florentines  and  other  odds  and  ends,  I  should  perhaps  share 
your  anxiety.     But  you  do  not  see,  no,  you  do  not  grasp  with 
both  hands,  as  I  do,  our  anchor  of  salvation ! 
Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  And  what  is  that  ? 
DON  MICHELE  :  What  is  it?  .  .  .  The  indomitable  energy 
of  the  Duke  of  Valentinois.     So  long  as  I  see  him  calm,  self- 
possessed,  unbending,  terrible,  I  cannot  feel  the  slightest  doubt 
or  fear. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  Don  Cesare  is  a  mighty  brain,  I  admit 
He  has  resources!  There  is  certainly  a  great  range  in  his 
astuteness.  ... 

L  95 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

DON  MICHELE  :  Better  still,  in  his  fearlessness !  And  that 
is  a  contagious  virtue  which  he  is  able  to  inspire  in  his  friends. 
AlGR.  BURCHARD:  A  subtle  politician  he  is — the  subtlest 
of  the  subtle!  I  grant  you  the  truth  of  that.  But  all  the 
same,  his  affairs  arc  going  badly,  so  badly  that  he  would 
perhaps  be  better  advised  to  take  refuge  in  Rome  than  to 
attempt  the  struggle  against  fate.  That  is  the  proposal  I  am 
charged  by  His  Holiness  to  make. 

DON  MICHELE  :  Mention  it  to  him,  and  in  his  smile  you 
will  read  the  meaning  of  scorn!  So  long  as  he  stays  upright, 
no  shipwreck  is  possible.  But  if  you  trust  me,  let  us  end  our 
walk  and  go  in  again.  The  Duke  might  notice  our  absence, 
and  he  is  no  lover  of  asides. 

AlGR.  BURCHARD  :  I  think  you  are  right.  When  he  is 
uneasy,  he  becomes,  like  the  Pope,  suspicious  and  dangerous 
even  towards  his  friends. 


In  a  house  of  the  town. — A  room  serving  as  a  study. — Don  Cesare 
Borgia,  Duke  of  Valentinois,  is  seated  at  a  table  with  dispatches  and 
letters. 

DUKE    (loudly) :     Admit    Signer    Machiavelli !     Welcome, 

Messer  Niccolo !     What  news  from  Florence  ? 

MACHIAVELLI :  Nothing  but  good,  my  lord. 

DUKE  :    I  am   glad  to  hear  it.     Are  you  tired  after  your 

journey,  or  would  you  rather  tell  me  at  once  the  object  of  your 

mission  ?     I  have  pressing  business  which  compels  me  to  lose 

no  time. 

MACHIAVELLI :  With  your  Highness'  permission,  I  will 

lay  before  you  the  message  I  am  charged  to  bring. 

DUKE  :   I  will  listen. 

MACHIAVELLI:  My  lord,  while  you  were  at  Milan  with 

Louis  XII.  .  .  . 

DUKE  :    I   will   tell    you   beforehand   that   the    kindnesses 

promised  me  from  that  quarter  vanished  like  smoke  before  my 

explanations. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Still  your  Highness  had  left  in  your  States 

96 


CESARE    BORGIA 

picked  troops  to  maintain  order,  and  these  troops  were  com- 
manded by  captains  of  great  repute. 

DUKE :     It    IS    important    that   militar>'   power    should   be 
entrusted  to  capable  hands. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Unfortunately,  these  hands  were  more 
capable  than  loyal.  Urged  by  the  fear  of  seeing  you  grow  too 
powerful  and  become  the  one  man  to  be  dreaded,  your  military 
chiefs  sent  word  to  our  Signiory  that  they  had  resolved  to 
turn  their  arms  against  you  in  alliance  with  Giovanni  Benti- 
voglio  of  Bologna,  Pandolfo  of  Siena,  and  other  exiled  princes. 
They  asked  for  our  alliance,  offering  to  restore  to  us  such  terri- 
tories and  such  towns  as  we  should  be  pleased  to  specify. 
DUKE :  Your  presence  here,  Messer  Niccolo,  is  sufficient 
proof  to  me  that  the  wisdom  of  the  Florentines  is  not  ensnared 
by  such  clumsy  traps.  Besides,  the  goo|d  faith  of  the  Orsini 
and  of  the  house  of  Vitelli  is  fairly  well-known  to  you. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  am  ordered  to  assure  you,  your  High- 
ness, that  the  Republic  is  not  in  the  habit  of  betraying  her 
aUies ;  she  is  filled  with  respect  for  the  Apostolic  See,  and 
you  can  count  upon  her  fidelity.  Besides,  she  hopes  that  you 
will  not  lend  your  ear  to  any  proposal  from  the  Venetians. 
DUKE  :  That  is  a  delicate  point  which  we  will  discuss  when 
more  at  leisure.  There  is  no  hurry.  But,  between  ourselves, 
Messer  Niccolo,  between  ourselves,  could  anyone  show 
more  heedlessness,  more  braggadocio,  steeped  in  an  enor- 
mous flood  of  folly,  than  my  condottieri?  To  attack  me — 
me!  .  .  .  And  it  never  even  entered  their  heads  that  they 
were  offending  the  Pope,  insulting  Louis,  and  bringing 
down  on  themselves  the  Germans,  with  whom  I  am  on  the 
best  possible  terms !  It  is  said  again  and  again  that  the 
Aragonese  wish  me  ill.  I  let  it  be  believed,  Machiavelli,  I 
let  it  be  believed !  .  .  .  These  wretched  rebel  hirelings 
imagined,  poor  children,  that  consummate  politicians  like  you 
Florentines  would  shut  yourselves  up  with  them  in  the  terrible 
deadlock  into  which  they  have  ventured,  and  all  to  receive  a 
few  miserable  villages  that  cannot  be  kept !     Frankly,  it  is 

L  2  97 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ridiculous  to  tlie  last  degree,  nothing  less!  This  raising  of 
shields  is  so  impotent  that,  I  confess  to  you,  I  never  thought 
for  the  moment  that  I  was  in  the  slightest  peril. 
MACHIAVELLI :  The  Signiory  has  not  looked  on  things 
in  quite  the  same  light  as  your  Highness.  It  has  seen  that 
}'0u  are  henceforth  without  troops ;  that  your  captains,  in 
detaching  themselves  from  you,  leave  you  disarmed,  totally 
disarmed ;  that  your  men,  who  have  only  belonged  to  you 
for  a  few  months,  quit  you  without  a  pang  and  even,  in  some 
places,  with  unconcealed  joy.  You  are  in  the  good  books  of 
the  French ;  you  tell  me  so,  I  believe  it,  and  moreover  I  have 
seen  troops  of  their  nation  hereabouts  marching  with  yours. 
His  Holiness,  too,  will  not  fail  you,  that  is  quite  probable,  yet 
perhaps  he  will  find  it  all  he  can  do  to  defend  his  own  self  in 
Rome  against  the  agitations  of  the  Orsini  and  the  Vitelli.  You 
think  you  are  on  friendly  terms  with  the  Germans  and  even 
witli  the  Aragonese ;  that  is  in  any  case  quite  a  novelty,  and 
we  might  have  reasons  for  being  of  a  different  opinion.  And 
surely,  my  lord,  suppose  that  your  captains,  instead  of  losing 
their  time  in  parleys  in  the  Perugian  country,  in  arguing, 
counter-arguing  and  talking  wildly — if  Pagolo,  Vitellozzo, 
Oliverotto,  the  Gravina,  the  Petrucchi,  the  Baglioni  and  the 
rest  had  simply  seized  your  person  while  you  were  alone, 
undefended,  off  your  guard  at  Imola,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how 
you  would  have  freed  yourself  from  the  imbroglio.  This  is 
the  view  taken  at  Florence,  and  this  is  why  it  was  thought 
that  our  help  would  not  be  inopportune  ;  but  if  the  friendship 
of  our  noble  signors  has  taken  a  wrong  road  here  and  has 
troubled  itself  to  no  purpose,  you  will  surely  excuse  the  act 
for  the  intention. 

DUKE  :  We  will  talk  with  absolute  openness !  Nothing  could 
be  more  acceptable  to  me  than  your  coming,  and  you  will  thank 
those  who  sent  you  on  my  behalf.  At  Imola  the  other  day 
I  was  not  so  embarrassed  as  you  appear  to  imagine.  Believe 
me,  I  had  more  than  one  string  to  my  bow.  I  possessed  not 
only  the  means  of  saving  myself,  but  the  certainty  of  triumph. 

98 


CESARE    BORGIA 

The  situation,  however,  I  will  not  deny,  was  in  some  respects 
other  than  I  could  have  wished.  From  now  onwards  all  has 
changed  The  arbiter,  the  master,  is  myself!  My  dear 
Machiavelli,  do  you  wish  a  project  to  come  to  grief?  Then 
have  it  carried  out  by  a  coalition.  All  a  single  individual's 
concentration  of  will  is  only  just  enough  to  accomplish  that 
difficult  thing,  an  action.  Now  they  have  formed  a  party  to 
plot  against  me ;  my  advantage  over  them  is  that  I  have  only 
myself  to  decide  on  my  line  of  defence.  Here  I  am  at  the 
head  of  a  strong  body  of  Italian  cavalry,  which  they  have  given 
me  time  to  get  together,  of  five  hundred  French  lancers  which 
they  have  given  me  time  to  summon,  and,  what  is  far  more 
precious,  I  have  the  friendship  of  the  Florentines  which  they 
have  given  time  to  ripen.  You  are  not  rescuing  me,  cer- 
tainly, but  you  are  serving  me  at  a  most  suitable  juncture. 
MACHIAVELLI :  The  noble  Signiory  will  consider  the 
punishment  of  the  perjurors  as  well-earned,  however  severe  it 
may  be. 

DUKE  :  There  is  no  question  of  anything  of  that  sort.  In 
some  cases,  clemency  is  imperative.  Not  that  one  can  have 
any  scruple  about  punishing  notorious  traitors  and  murderers 
like  Vitellozzo  and  Oliverotto  ;  Italy  is  weltering  in  blood  from 
their  crimes.  Nevertheless,  my  intentions  are  most  concilia- 
tory. .  .  .  Bautista !  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Conduct  the  Signor  Secretary 
to  my  chamberlain.  Let  him  be  given  good  lodging  and  all 
that  he  can  desire.  Messer  Niccolo  is  my  particular  friend. 
BAUTISTA :  Yes,  your  Highness. 

MACHIAVELLI :    You  overwhelm   me  with   kindness,  my 
lord. 
DUKE:  Farewell. 


DUKE  (alone):  Those  Florentines !  .  .  .  They  are  most  timely 
in  coming  to  my  aid!  .  .  .  But  if  I  do  not  take  care,  they  will 
soon  have  twisted  their  service  into  a  halter  to  strangle  me 
at  the  proper  place  and  time.     Their  sudden  friendship  is  only 

99 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

the  outcome  of  their  hatred  towards  the  Orsini.     They  con- 
sider me  less  soHd  and  therefore  less  dangerous  than  that 
ancient  house.  ...  A  mushroom  has  no  roots  and  never  grows 
so  high  as  an  oak.  .  .  .  and  they  take  me  for  a  mushroom ! 
From  this  day  forth  I  shall  have  to  distrust  Florence  more 
than  I  ever  did !  .  .  .  Flo,  Giovan-Maria ! 
GIOVAN-MARIA:  What  is  your  Highness'  pleasure? 
DUKE  :  Go  and  see  where  Don  Michele  and  Mgr.  Burchard 
are.     Ask  them  to  come  and  speak  to  me. 
GIOVAN-MARIA:   The  two  gentlemen  are  awaiting  your 
good  pleasure. 
DUKE  :  Then  let  them  come  in ! 

Enter  Don  Michele  and  Mgr.  Burchard. 
Our  affairs  are  going  better,  but  not  so  well  that  the  danger 
does  not  continue  to  be  tremendous. 

AlGR.  BURCHARD :  The  Florentines  have  sent  an  envoy  to 
your  Highness.  Are  you  assured  in  that  quarter? 
DUKE :  Sufficiently ;  and  on  that  foundation  we  are  going  to 
build.  You,  Burchard,  go  straight  to  Bologna ;  do  not  return 
to  Rome  to  the  Holy  Father  until  I  send  you  back.  At 
Bologna,  you  will  find  out  what  might  induce  Giovanni 
Bentivoglio  to  break  off  from  the  league.  You,  Michele,  will 
go  to  the  condottieri,  and  .  .  .  here  are  the  instructions  which 
I  had  just  written  when  this  Florentine  arrived.  You  will  not 
fail  to  dazzle  their  eyes  with  the  new  alliance,  and  you  will 
make  all  the  use  you  can  of  this  weapon. 
DON  MICHELE :  I  will  do  my  best,  your  Flighness. 
DUKE  :  Both  of  you  will  write  to  me  as  soon  as  you  have 
succeeded  in  merely  gaining  a  hearing.  An  adversary  who 
discusses  is  not  resolute.  He  must  be  put  down  sooner  or 
later.  Go !  If  I  weather  this  storm,  the  most  violent  that 
has  ever  assailed  me,  I  shall  remain  master  of  all  the  Romagna. 
DON  MICHELE:  No,  my  lord,  of  all  Italy! 
DUKE  :  Possibly.  I  really  cannot  say  which  would  please 
me  better — to  reign  over  so  fair  an  empire,  to  drive  out  every 
single  one  of  these  wretched  Gaulish  and  German  barbarians  ; 

100 


MCCULO     MACIIIAN  KI.l.l 


to  iact  page  loo 


CESARE    BORGIA 

or  to  hang  these  dukes,  princes  and  podestas  of  the  ancient 

mould.     Fools  that  they  are,  they  have  not  an  inkling  of  the 

necessities  of  the  new  age !     They  riddle  me  with  their  insults 

as  a  Spanish  bull  is  riddled  by  the  banderillos ! 

DON  MICHELE  :   All  happiness  will  come  to  you  at  one 

stroke,   perfect   as   heavenly   bliss !      I   kiss   your   Highness' 

hands. 

Mgr.  BURCHARD  :  And  I,  too. 

DUKE  :  Go !     Neither  of  you  spare  the  couriers ! 


SINIGAGLIA. 

The  condottieri's  camp. — The  tent  of  the  council  of  war.  Around  a  large 
table  are  seated  ViteUozzo  Vitelh,  Oliverotto  da  Fermo,  Signer  Pagalo 
Orsini,  the  Duke  of  Gravina,  captains  of  adventurers. 

GRAVINA :  Peace!  No  quarrelling!  We  have  all  been 
right,  we  have  all  been  wrong,  and  myself  the  first.  We  ought 
to  have  taken  Cesare  when  we  had  him  in  our  power  at  Imola, 
and  killed  him.  But  to  split  now  would  be  an  even  greater 
blunder. 

PAGOLO  (striking  the  table  with  his  fist) :  And  I,  I  tell  you 
that  nothing  is  even  compromised !  By  God  !  we  command  ten 
thousand  soldiers,  and  a  few  sorry  French  lancers  won't 
frighten  a  man  of  my  house. 

OLIVEROTTO  :  I  am  of  your  opinion ;  I  occupy  the 
advanced  posts  with  my  company,  five  hundred  horse  and  a 
thousand  archers.  Let  the  Borgia  think  of  testing  me,  he'll 
have  a  warm  welcome! 

VITELLOZZO  :  These  are  fine  tirades,  but  the  cold  truth  is 
that  we  have  done  nothing  of  what  we  schemed.  The 
Valentinois  is  alive,  and  he  ought  to  be  rotting  at  this  moment 
under  six  feet  of  earth.  But  he  is  not !  We  have  talked 
instead  of  acting,  and  our  enemy  is  laughing  at  us.  The 
Bentivoglio,  who  promised  us  his  aid,  turns  a  deaf  ear; 
Guidubaldo  accepts  congratulations  at  Urbino,  and  does 
nothing.  The  Florentines  have  not  even  sent  us  an  answer. 
For  my  part,  I  assure  you,  I  prophesy  a  very  black  future ! 

lOI 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

PAGOLO  :  Shall  I  be  frank  ?  You  weary  me  vvilh  your 
jeremiads.  When  free-lances  have  their  cuirass  on  their  back 
and  tlieir  sword  at  their  side,  such  doleful  looks  are  con- 
temptible. 

VITELLOZZO  :  All  your  violence  and  bragging  doe's'not 
alter  the  real  position  in  the  slightest.  When  you  are  hanged, 
broken  on  the  wheel,  or  poisoned,  much  good  your  rash  valour 
will  have  done  you  ! 

GRAVINA  :  Peace,  peace,  my  friends !  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  discuss,  in  perfect  calmness,  what  had  best  be  done  ? 
VITELLOZZO  (rising  and  walking  agitatedly  across  the 
room,  his  hands  raised  to  heaven) :  Heavens,  how  blind  men 
are !  With  what  an  impetus  do  they  rush  to  their  ruin !  What 
frenzy  has  seized  us,  that  we  throw  ourselves  in  all  lightness 
of  heart  into  so  ill-planned  an  enterprise  ? 
OLIVEROTTO  -.  Bahl  nothing  was  more  reasonable  or 
more  necessary.  We  are  in  the  pay  of  the  Valentinois,  true  ; 
but  with  what  object?  He  is  allowed  to  hold  the  lands  we 
have  conquered,  lands  that  we  wish  to  occupy  and  to  rule. 
That  is  the  view  we  have  taken.  We  command  our  troops ; 
they  need  pay,  which  he  supplies.  Nothing  simpler!  But 
we  are  the  real  masters ;  I  will  not  suffer  him  to  give  himself 
airs  of  forgetting  that  and  expect  to  play  the  monarch.  That's 
the  gist  of  the  matter. 

PAGOLO :  I  agree.  You  talk  like  a  bishop,  Oliverotto. 
Money  and  pleasure  for  our  men,  pleasure  and  money  for  us, 
and  the  whole  world  may  go  to  the  devil !  Captains  of  free- 
lances must  look  for,  desire  and  put  up  with  no  other  system. 
OLIVEROTTO :  And  we  have  a  thousand  times  had 
grounds  to  be  angry  at  seeing  this  Valentinois  aim  at  his 
interests  and  not  ours.  What  ?  He  wants  to  govern  ?  To  play 
the  prince,  the  real  prince  ? 

VITELLOZZO  :  It's  certain  that  he  cuts  his  officers'  throats 
when  they  plunder  the  peasant  for  themselves  and  not  for  him. 
PAGOLO  :  His  officers — yes,  he  is  their  master ;  but  he 
dared  to  utter  the  most  outrageous  threats  against  me  regarding 

1 02 


CESARE    BORGIA 

the  firing  of  a  village!  A  Cesare  Borgia!  A  man  of  no 
account,  a  low  fellow  from  the  gutter,  who  aims  at  becoming  a 
petty  Sforza! 

GRAVINA  :  Sforza,  at  any  rate,  was  a  condottiere,  if  he  was 
not  a  gentleman. 

OLIVEROTTO  :  Ah,  you  are  very  far  out  as  to  Alexander 
VI.'s  bastard!     Well,  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  what  he  is  or  is 
not.     No  sceptre,  no  law  !     Our  good  pleasure,  that's  enough ! 
Our  best  course  is  not  to  abandon  our  plans. 
VITELLOZZO  :  And  your  plans— what  are  they .? 
PAGOLO  :    Our  plans,  great  Heavens !  ...  are  our  plans. 
To  reduce  the  Valentinois  to  the  position  of  lackey,  nothing 
less.     If  he  resists,  he'll  be  broken — there  are  our  plans ! 
VITELLOZZO  :  Agreed ;  but  they  have  failed.     You  have 
shown  neither  decision,  nor  firmness,  nor  promptitude. 
OLIVEROTTO  :  May  the  devil  choke  you  ! 
GRAVINA :  I  implore  you,  be  calm,  be  calm !     Let  us  be  in 
harmony.     Come,    let    us    make    some    resolution,    however 

trifling ! 

Enter  an  Officer. 

THE    OFFICER:    Your    Excellencies,    the    Captain    Don 
Michele  has  come  from  the  camp  of  the  Valentinois,     He 
would  like  to  be  shown  into  your  presence. 
PAGOLO:  Oh,  Michele?     Little  Michele?     He's  a  worthy 
fellow ! 

VITELLOZZO  :  Yes,  his  master's  creature ! 
GRAVINA :  I  am  curious  to  know  what  he  can  have  to  say 
to  us. 

VITELLOZZO  :  If  you  listen  to  him,  he  will  worm  his  way 
into  your  confidence,  piling  falsehoods  on  falsehoods,  as  in 
days  of  old  the  Titans  mounted  to  the  heavens  by  heaping 
Pelion  upon  Ossa.  I  am  all  against  admitting  him. 
OLIVEROTTO  :  I  entirely  disagree.  Bring  in  Don  Michele. 
Michele  enters  and  embraces  the  four  captains  one  after  the  other. 
DON  MICHELE:  Greeting,  greeting,  noble  Signors,  worthy, 

103 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

excellent  gentlemen.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  all  in  such 
fine  fettle. 

CAPTAINS :  Thanks,  Don  Michele !  You  are  in  the  same 
case,  it  seems  ? 

DON  MICHELE  :  Oh,  much  tormented^  I  assure  you !  Since 
you  and  he  have  appeared  no  longer  to  agree,  my  Lord  is 
very  downcast  and  makes  us  lead  a  most  melancholy  existence. 
PAGOLO  :  Plague  take  your  Lord !  He's  a  man  of  no  faith  ! 
DON  AIICHELE:  How  so,  pray? 

PAGOLO :  Is  it  not  clear  that  he  wants  to  play  the  despot  ? 
When  he  has  made  himself  one  with  our  aid,  we  shall  have 
on  our  hands  all  the  powers  of  Italy,  while  our  most  dangerous 
adversary  will  be  the  very  man  who,  owing  everything  to 
us,  will  make  his  peace  at  our  expense  ? 

DON  MICHELE:  As  I  did  not  come  here  to  dandle  you 
with  illusions,  nor  to  reply  at  random  to  fancied  charges, 
let  us  have  method  in  our  discussion,  I  beg  you.  To  begin 
with  you,  Signor  Pagolo,  what  is  the  meaning  of  your  com- 
plaints? Is  not  your  pay  issued  regularly,  even  before  it 
falls  due  ? 

PAGOLO:  I 

DON  MICHELE :  Pardon  me,  my  good,  my  worthy  Pagolo! 
You  shall  soon  answer  me  as  you  wish,  all  that  you  wish  and 
as  lengthily  as  you  please  ;  but  first,  you  must  know  whom 
you  have  to  deal  with  in  me  ;  that  is  why  I  have  to  explain 
myself.  I  am  a  man  who  is  frank,  sincere,  loyal ;  I  am 
simple,  I  indulge  in  no  fine  phrases.  I  swear  it  by  the 
genuine  love  I  bear  you,  and  by  my  eternal  salvation, 
which  I  hope  not  to  lose !  Why  then  should  I  tell  you  any- 
thing which  is  not  scrupulously  true  ?  Have  confidence  in  me, 
all  four  of  you,  and  let  me  speak  to  you  from  the  fulness  of 
ray  heart!  No,  Pagolo,  no,  my  comrade,  the  Duke  has  not 
done  you  the  slightest  wrong ;  on  the  contrary,  he  has 
favoured  and  honoured  you  particularly,  and  he  does  the  same 
to  the  houses  of  Orsini  and  Vitelli.  Accordingly,  what  I  say 
in  your  case,  I  vouch  for  equally  on  behalf  of  these  other 

104 


CESARE    BORGIA 

captains.     So  far  as  the  past  is  concerned,  you  can  make  no 
reproach  against  my  master. 

OLIVEROTTO  :  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  Michele,  but 

DON  MICHELE  :  Patience,  patience !     Let  me  finish !     In 

the  past,  I  repeat,  no  shadow  has  crossed  your  path  ;  but  what 

of  the  future  ?     Ah,  you  fear  the  future  ?     You  imagine  the 

Duke  so  ambitious  to  reign  alone  that  he  might  have  occasion 

to  ignore  your  services  ? 

GRAVINA  :  That  would  not  be  impossible. 

VITELLOZZO  :  I,  for  my  part,  should  not  be  surprised. 

DON  MICHELE :  Well,  I  should  be  very  much  surprised  if 

he  did.     Apart  from  all  questions  of  ingratitude,  it  would  be 

so  ridiculous  and   undiplomatic.  .  .  .  Let  us  consider.     The 

Duke  is  supported  by  the  French } 

OLIVER.OTTO  :   Supported?     It  is  they  who  created  him 

from  the  slime,  as  God  created  Adam ! 

DON  MICHELE  :  Yes,  but  what  did  Adam  do  ?     He  at  once 

plotted  against  God,  because  we  never  love  our  creator ;  he  is 

too  humiliating  a  master.     Do  you  understand  that  ? 

VITELLOZZO  :   To  defend  himself  against  the  French,  he 

reckons  on  the  Pope. 

DON    MICHELE :     And    does    he    also    reckon    on     the 

immortality  of  the  Pope?     Will  Alexander  VI.  live  for  ever? 

Do  we  guarantee  you  that  ?     No  !     So,  according  to  you,  when 

his  Holiness  goes  down  to  his  grave,  we  are  agreed  to  go  and 

bury  ourselves  there  too  ?     You  are  mistaken,  we  want  to  live, 

and  in  order  to  live  and  to  reign,  we  reckon  on  you  and 

on  no  other ! 

PAGOLO  :  This  is  something  new. 

DON  MICHELE  :  I  am,  perhaps,  too  open,  and  I  beg  you  in 

any  case  not  to  repeat  my  words  to  the  Valentinois.     They 

must  remain  between  ourselves.     What  I  tell  you  is  absolutely 

correct     We  desire  and  we  seek  no  other  friends  but  you ! 

Because,  to  reveal  to  you  all  that  T  think,  there  will  assuredly 

come  a  time  when  we  shall  have  to  break  with  the  Florentines, 

however  well  we  may  stand  with  tliem  for  the  present. 

105 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

THE  FOUR  CAPTAINS  (all  together):  What  are  you 
saying?  You  stand  well  with  the  Florentines?  Are  you 
certain  ? 

DON  MICHELE  :  Why,  one  of  their  secretaries,  Messer 
Niccolo  Machiavelli,  is  with  us  at  this  moment.  It  is  easy  to 
prove  it  to  you,  and  .... 

PAGOLO  :  Why  do  you  pause  ?  Come,  Michele,  no  reticence ! 
W^e  have  always  been  friends ! 

DON  MICHELE  :  No!  I  must  not  tell  you  what  I  had  on 
the  tip  of  my  tongue.  I  let  myself  go  too  far  with  you.  You 
will  not  fail  to  repeat  to  the  Valentinois  something  of  what  I 
say.  However  little  it  may  be,  it  will  already  be  too  much  for 
my  security.  No  ...  let  us  change  our  line  of  discussion.  .  .  . 
Don't  press  me,  I  beg.  ...  It  is  my  ruin  you  are  compassing. 
.  .  .  Once  more,  a  hundred  times,  no !  .  .  .  My  friends,  T 
implore  you,  let  us  come  to  an  understanding!  ...  I  will 
relate  you  one  detail  ....  one  only.  .  .  .  You  swear  to  mc 
to  be  discreet? 

THE  FOUR  CAPTAINS  :  On  our  honour  and  on  all  the 
Gospels ! 

DON  MICHELE:  God!  How  wrong  I  was  to  let  myself 
go !  .  .  .  From  Messer  Niccolo  we  learnt  the  proposals  of 
alliance  you  made  to  the  Florentines.  They  have  sent  the 
Valentinois  your  very  letters,  and  offer  money  and  troops ; 
they  have  written  to  Giovanni  Bentivoglio  that  if  he  should 
have  the  misfortune  to  keep  his  word  to  you,  they  would 
at  once  take  action  against  him.  That  is  what  I  confide  to 
you.  .  .  .  You  shall  know  no  more,  not  if  you  ask  me  till 
to-morrow.  Besides,  all  this  is  most  painful  for  me ! 
VITELLOZZO  :  I  don't  see  what  it  is  that  troubles  you  so. 
The  Bolognese,  according  to  you,  are  betraying  us ;  the 
Florentines  are  Judases,  you  have  at  your  heels  a  whole 
regiment  of  men-at-arms ;  are  you  making  game  of  us  with 
your  airs  and  graces? 

DON  MICHELE  :  And  in  six  months,  what  will  become  of 
us  ^     There  is  no  doubt  that,  with   so  many  opponents  to 

1 06 


CESARE    BORGIA 

encounter,  you  will  be  crushed  in  a  few  days  from  now.     All 
the  cities  detest  you,  and  should  you  turn  Spaniards,  your 
roads  are  cut  off.     But  we  ?     What  will  happen  to  us  in  the 
hands  of  so  many  protectors?     Oh,  you  did  very  wrong  to 
rebel !     It  is  just  a  case  for  quoting  the  fable  of  Menenius. 
PAGOLO  :  Well,  the  harm  is  done  now. 
VITELLOZZO  :  If  they  had  hstened  to  me! 
OLIVEROTTO  :  You  are  joking,  Messer  Vitellozzo!     You 
were  the  most  furious  of  us  all. 

VITELLOZZO  :  I'd  have  you  know  that  you  must  not  take 
such  a  haughty  tone  with  me.     You  forget  yourself. 
GRAVINA:     Gentleness!     Harmony!     Pray    don't    let    us 
quarrel ! 

DON  MICHELE  :  Indeed,  you  have  quarrelled  quite  enough! 
What  is  wanted  now  is  agreement. 

VITELLOZZO  :  The  past  is  past.  We  should  have  perhaps 
done  more  wisely  in  keeping  quiet ;  but  there  is  no  greater 
folly  than  to  let  ourselves  be  hoodwinked.  I  know  Signor 
Borgia's  wheedlings !  I  know  them !  I  know  them !  In  the 
whole  world  he  sees  neither  friends  nor  enemies,  but  only 
puppets,  and  not  one  has  ever  been  set  in  motion  by  him 
without  being  eventually  broken. 

DON  MICHELE :  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  in  that  case, 
declare  war  upon  him !  On  one  side,  there  are  the  Pope, 
the  King  of  France,  the  Florentines ;  to-morrow,  the 
Bolognese ;  the  day  after  to-morrow,  all  the  cities,  all  the 
communes,  all  the  factions,  all  the  lords  of  the  Romagna, 
including  your  comrade  Petruccio  of  Siena  and  even 
Giampagolo  Baglione  of  Perugia.  On  the  other,  I  see  the 
houses  of  Vitelli  and  Orsini ;  moreover,  we  must  remember 
that  the  wisest  members  of  the  houses  are  at  Rome,  under  the 
thumb  of  the  Pope.  Perhaps  you  will  succeed. 
PAGOLO :  Only  a  week  ago  we  beat  your  troops  at 
Fossombrone. 

DON  MICHELE  :  Well,  go  on  beating  us. 
OLIVEROTTO:    Supposing   for   a    moment    that   we    felt 

107 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

disposed  to  come  to  terms,  would  you  have  a  reasonable 
proposal  to  make  to  us?  1  mean,  a  proposal  which  would 
secure  our  being  sheltered,  absolutely,  completely  sheltered 
against  the  rancour  of  the  most  rancorous  of  men  ? 
DON  MICHKLE  :  I  cannot  imagine  what  risk  you  could  run, 
being,  as  I  sec,  at  the  head  of  your  own  troops.  You  have  no 
intention  of  parting  with  them,  1  suppose  ? 
GRAVINI:  Certauily  not!  But  you  have  troops  also,  and 
if,  through  misplaced  confidence,  we  let  ourselves  be  taken 
by  surprise.  .  .  . 

DON  MICHELE :  In  that  case,  I  repeat,  it  is  we  who  should 
be  at  the  mercy  of  our  foreigners,  and  I  thought  I  had  made 
you  realise  how  little  that  was  to  our  liking.  Then,  too,  what 
you  have  done  has  not  vexed  the  Duke  so  much  as  you  seem 
to  imagine.  He  did  not  think  himself  in  great  danger ;  he 
clearly  perceived  that  you  had  spared  him  at  Imola ;  besides, 
he  knows  of  old  the  hostile  feelings  of  the  Florentines  towards 
your  families.  At  bottom,  he  looks  upon  your  conduct  as  a 
sheer  piece  of  folly  on  the  part  of  honest  but  imprudent 
soldiers.  You  are  not  obliged,  gentlemen,  to  be  profound  and 
far-seeing  statesmen.  Do  you  want  bigger  pay,  a  brilliant 
court,  gay  ceremonies,  good  cheer  ?  Then  come  back  to  us  ; 
we  receive  you  with  open  arms.  Above  all,  don't  cherish  wild 
notions ;  you  are  not  by  a  long  way  such  culprits  as  you 
fear!  .  .  .  Now,  while  you  are  making  up  your  minds,  I 
confess  to  you  I  should  like  some  supper.  .  .  . 
PAGOLO :  I  will  take  you  to  my  quarters,  if  you  like. 
DON  MICHELE  :  No,  no,  don't  put  yourself  out  for  my  sake. 
Continue  your  deliberations  ;  anyone  will  show  me  the  way. 
GRAVINA :  Pagolo  can  accompany  you.  We  shall  have  time 
to  speak  of  all  these  matters  this  evening  or  to-morrow 
morning.  Enough  of  brain-racking  for  one  sitting. 
VITELLOZZO :  I  must  admit  that  my  brain  is  bursting ;  I 
can't  stand  any  more. 

DON  MICHET,E :  Ah,  my  dear  signers,  my  friends,  my  good 
friends,  you  will  not  forget  your  promises,  will  you  ?     You  will 

1 08 


CESARE    BORGIA 

not  reveal  to  the  Duke  the  indiscretions  I  have  been  guilty 
of?     I  let  my  tongue  run  away  with  me,  you  know,  rather 
rashly,  but  without  evil  intention,  Heaven  is  my  witness ! 
THE    FOUR    CAPTAINS:    Rest    assured,    we    shall    tell 
nothing,  old  fox ! 


CESENA. 

Cesaxe  Borgia's  study. — The  Duke,  several  confidential  agents,  couriers 
and  secretaries.  Some  are  rapidly  %vriting  dispatches,  the  others 
standing  up  around  their  master. 

DUKE  :  No  post  ? 

A  SECRETARY :  No,  your  Highness,  not  yet. 

DUKE :  Let  me  know  as  soon  as  one  arrives.     We  must  lose 

no  time.     Antonio,  are  you  ready  ? 

ANTONIO :  Yes,  your  Highness,  my  horse  is  at  the  door. 

DUKE :  Go  and  visit  for  me  the  peasants  of  the  Apennine. 

Address  yourself,  for  choice,  to  the  Cerroni,  and,  among  these, 

to  the  Ravagli  families.     If  the  Rinaldi  are  willing  to  listen 

to  you,  you  will  of  course  receive  them  cordially ;  but  I  have 

more  hold  over  the  others.     In  short,  don't  overlook  anyone, 

and  make  me  as  many  friends  as  you  can. 

ANTONIO :  Yes,  my  lord. 

DUKE  :  Promise  money,  promise  freedom,  promise  above  all 

vengeance  and  the  sacking  of  towns  which,  by  not  submitting 

at  once,  would  compel  me  to  take  them  by  assault. 

ANTONIO  :   Yes,  my  lord.     The   peasant  is  very  fond  of 

sacking  towns. 

DUKE  :  Let  him  have  his  way.     Take  care  to  coax  the  barons 

who  are  popular  with  the  country-folk,  and  bring  over  to  our 

side  as  many  as  you  can. 

ANTONIO  :  I  know  them  all,  and  if  I  offer  them  the  prospect 

of  overthrowing  the  free-lances.  .  .  . 

DUKE  :   Do  your  best,  I  give  you  a  free  hand.     Go.     Now 

for  you,  Alfonso! 

ALFONSO :  Here  I  am,  my  lord. 

DUKE  :  Go  to  Forll.     I  must  win  over  the  Guelphs  there,  and, 

109 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

to  that  <rnd,  offer  them  my  protection  against  the  Ghibelhnes. 
As  the  latter  are  the  stronger,  let  us  attract  to  our  side  those 
who  are  most  in  need  of  alliance.  You  will  do  the  same  on 
your  way  at  Facnza  and  at  Ravenna,  but  just  the  reverse  at 
Rimini,  where  the  Guelphs  dominate.  There  you  will  work 
above  all  upon  the  Ghibellines.  Now  go!  You  others,  have 
you  your  instructions? 
SEVERAL  AGENTS:  Yes,  my  lord. 
THE  DUKE  :  Go  then!  and  succeed! 

Exeunt  agents. 
You,  Martino,  I  will  send  you  to  Urbino.  This  is  what  you 
must  do  to  have  Guidubaldo  killed  or  banished  for  me.  Listen 
carefully. 


On  the  glacis. — The  French  archers  and  the  men-at-arms  play  at  nine- 
pins and  leap-frog. 

A  man-at-arms  is  walking  with  two  archers,  at  the  same  place  where 
Don  Michele  and  Mgr.  Burchard  were  walking. 

MAN-AT-ARMS  :    I  tell  you  the  Eyquem  are  one  of  the 

good  families  of  Bordeaux,  and  when  the  father  bought  the 

castle  of  Montaigne,  everyone  said  :    "  All  the  better,  it's  a 

good  stock ! " 

FIRST  ARCHER :  Yes,  but  not  one  of  the  first  of  the  town. 

The  Lestonnac  are  far  more  ancient! 

SECOND  ARCHER  :  They  may  be  ancient,  but  the  Colombi 

are  still  older.     That's  what  I  always  heard  my  father  say. 

THIRD  ARCHER :  I  have  nothing  against  that.     It  seems 

that  they  had  mayors  and  judges  of  their  name  in  the  time  of 

the  English  rule ! 

MAN-AT-ARMS :    So    I    was   assured.     Those   were   good 

times,  those   of  the   English!     The  town  paid  no  imposts, 

there  was  no  salt-tax,  and  wine  cost  next  to  nothing. 

SECOND  ARCHER :   Are  you  going  to  turn  Englishman 

now? 

MAN-AT-ARMS  :  So  help  me  God !     I  should  turn  what  I 

no 


CESARE    BORGIA 

please,  so  long  as  I  was  allowed  to  go  back  to  Milan,  where 
I  left  a  little  girl  who  didn't  mind  being  kissed. 
THIRD  ARCHER :  The  fact  is,  there's  no  fun  at  all  here ; 
we  get  hardly  any  fighting,  and  it  bores  one  to  death  to  see 
from  morn  till  night  the  yellow  faces  of  these  beggarly 
Italians.  They  are  people  with  no  idea  of  enjoying  themselves ! 
They  don't  understand  a  word  of  French,  they  don't  drink, 
they  don't  dance,  they  have  just  about  as  much  wit  as  my 
horse ! 

SECOND  ARCHER  :  Now  then,  Jeannot,  cheer  up,  my  lad! 
Here!     Here's  something  to  put  you  in  good  spirits  again! 
He  throws  Jeannot's  cap  to   the  ground  ;  the  archers  and  the  men-at- 
arms  jostle  and  fight  with  loud  laughter. 


SINIGAGLIA. 

The   free-lances'    camp.— The   tent   of   Pagolo   Orsini. — Pagolo   has   just 
supped  with  Don  JVIichele. — Lackeys  clear  the  table  and  withdraw. 

DON  MICHELE  :  You  are  all  overheated,  and  none  of  you 

sees  things  as  they  are.     The  Duke  is  not  the  gentlest  man 

on  earth,  it  is  true,  but  neither  is  he  the  rashest,  and  that  is 

why  he  does  not  care  to  be  hard  on  you  and  lose  what  you 

are  worth  to  him. 

PAGOLO  :  If  we  listen  to  him,  we  are  lost!     You  will  never 

convince  me  to  the  contrary.     Vitellozzo  is  not  wrong  on  that 

point. 

DON  MICHELE  :   Vitellozzo  is  an  ass  who  fancies  himself  a 

lion,  because  he  uses  a  knife  better  than  anyone  else.     It  is 

a  pretty  talent,  but  not  everything.      Let  us  come  back  to 

business.     You  think  then  that  the  Duke  wishes  you  no  good? 

PAGOLO:  Yes,  I  do! 

DON  MICHELE  :   Here  is  the  proof.     He  sends  you  this 

chain. 

PAGOLO:    The   deuce!     Rubies  and   sapphires!    a  pretty 

setting !     Florentine  work !     Was  I  mistaken  .'' 

DON  MICHELE  :  For  a  soldier  you  have  a  cultivated  taste. 

PAGOLO  :  That's  just  like  you,  you  courtiers !     You  imagine 

M  III 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

that  no  one  but  yourselves  has  the  right  to  love  the  divine 
Muses  anil  understand  real  beauty.  If  this  chain  is  not  the 
work  of  Robetta,  which  would  greatly  astonish  me,  I'll  wager 
you  my  Venus,  the  most  perfect  picture  of  Guido  of  Bologna, 
against  your  glass  of  Guillaume  of  Marseilles,  that  it's  from 
the  workshop  of  Giovanni  di  Goro ! 

DON  MICHELE:  The  glass  is  yours,  for  this  chain  is 
actually  by  Robetta.  We  know  at  court  how  to  choose  things, 
you'll  admit ! 

PAGOLO  :  How  is  Count  Castiglione  ? 
DON  MICHELE :  Still  a  loyal  servant  of  the  Orsini  house. 
PAGOLO  :  We  approve  of  him  for  such  sentiments.     But  I'm 
tired  out.     A  whole  day  on  horseback,  visiting  the  guard- 
houses !     What  a  nuisance  these  misunderstandings  are !     Let 
us  go  to  bed  ;  what  say  you  ? 

DON  MICHELE  :  What  say  I  ?     I'm  nearly  dropping  off! 
PAGOLO :  If  you  write  to  the  Duke  this  evening,  do  not 
fail  to  assure  his  Highness  that  he  has  been  quite  misled  as 
regards  me.  .  .  .  No,  after  all,  don't  tell  him  anything!  .  .  . 
I  would  not  have  him  imagine.  .  .  . 

DON  MICHELE  :  Oh,  you  big  baby!  I'll  tell  him  you  are 
his  friend,  as  he  is  yours.     Good-night ! 


112 


CESARE    BORGIA 

CESENA. 
The  Valentinois'  stud}-. — Don  Cesare  Borgia  ;  ]Machiavelli  ;  Bautista. 

BAUTISTA :  A  dispatch,  my  lord. 

DUKE  :  Well,  give  it  me.  Messer  Niccolo,  I  do  not  wish 
the  Signiory  of  Florence  to  be  ignorant  of  any  detail  of  my 
dispute  with  my  condottieri.   This  is  what  Don  Michele  writes. 

He  gives  the  dispatch  to  Machiavelli,  who  reads  it. 

You  see  that  Pagolo  Orsini  is  on  the  way  to  pacify  and  lead 
back  his  comrades.  Vitellozzo  resists ;  still,  he  will  go  with 
the  others  ...  he  will  come  like  the  others.  ...  I  shall  have 
him  there,  in  my  hands,  Messer  Niccolo,  like  the  others! 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  see  clearly,  your  Highness.  He  will 
come — they  will  all  come.  Every  moment  their  hearts  sink 
lower,  and  their  heads  ...  oh,  their  heads  are  already  gone ! 
I  see  that  they  propose  that  you  should  join  them  so  as  to 
make  war  upon  us. 

DUKE:  They  don't  know  what  to  invent  next!  .  .  .  Fore- 
seeing my  refusal,  they  offer  me  a  fresh  combination. 
MACHIAVELLI:  To  take  Sinigaglia  and  give  it  you? 
DUKE  :  I  shall  answer  by  telling  them  to  summon  the  place 
to  surrender  and  that  I  am  coming  to  their  aid,  and  I  will  go. 
MACHIAVELLI :  Plave  you  enough  followers  to  be  secure 
in  the  hands  of  these  men  ? 

DUKE:  Enough  followers?  ...  I  let  them  know  (for  it  was 
they  who  were  afraid)  that  I  was  going  to  dismiss  all  my 
troops  except  M.  de  Candalle's  company  and  a  small  number 
of  Italian  dragoons.  I  have  kept  my  word.  All  left  an  hour 
ago. 

MACHIAVELLI:  You  are  going  to  imperil  yourself  like 
this,  my  Lord  ? 

DUKE  :  There  are  moments  when  the  safest  spot  on  earth 
is  in  front  of  the  lion's  jaws !  Some  day  you  will  understand 
that.     You  are  still  young. 

M   J  US 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MACHIAVELLl:  I  am  curious  to  know  what  an  air  you 
will  assume  towards  these  traitors. 

DUKE  :  Nothing  but  gentleness,  Messer  Niccolo,  nothing  but 
clemency!     You  smile? 

MACHIAVELLl :  I  am  smiling,  your  Highness,  at  the  want 
of  agreement  between  the  honey  of  your  words  and  the  fire 
of  your  glances. 

DUKE :  Politics  are  great  matters,  Messer  Niccolo,  and  must 
not  be  faced  lightly.     What  is  this,  Bautista? 
BAUTISTA :  A  note,  my  lord. 

DUKE    (reading) :     Ah,    our    game    is    going    well !     The 
Bentivoglio  offers  me  his  friendship  and  a  family  alliance. 
MACHIAVELLl :  All  the  same,  Signor  Giovanni  is  not  much 
inclined  to  domestic  affections. 

DUKE  :  He  is  a  man  of  action.  One  night  he  had  a  fine 
skirmish  with  a  pack  of  opponents:  two  hundred  hounds  at 
a  single  blow.  That  cannot  fail  to  bring  glory  to  a  )'Oung 
boar.  But  these  men  of  the  ancient  families  always  betray 
the  degenerate  in  some  point  or  other.  It  is  not  enough  to 
be  able  to  stab  or  make  others  stab.  The  Bentivoglio  lacks 
brains,  and  has  never  been  able  to  keep  a  coherent  idea  in  his 
head.  .  .  .  See,  he  is  breaking  away  from  my  free-lances ! 
MACHIAVELLl :  You  have  made  good  headway  this  week. 
DUKE  :  Not  bad !  Don't  let  us  stop  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  Let  us  march  straight,  firmly  and  quickly.  They  are 
sounding  to  horse.  We  shall  start  at  once  for  Sinigaglia. 
MACHIAVELLl  (pensively) :  It  is  most  probable  .  .  .  most 
probable  .  .  .  those  men  are  mad  enough  to  expect  you. 
DUKE  :  What,  expect  me  ?  They'll  come  to  meet  me,  never 
doubt!  Fate  either  leads  man  or  drags  him.  I  have  fooled 
them  twenty  times,  deceived  them  a  hundred  times.  They 
know  how  little  secondary  considerations  weigh  with  me. 
Yet  look  at  them !     How  their  reason  totters  more  and  more 

114 


CESARE    BORGIA 

every  moment !  The  Florentines  do  not  want  them. 
Yesterday  morning  their  friend  Guidubaldo  took  alarm  at  the 
fierceness  of  my  challenges,  and  fled  from  Urbino.  Now  the 
Bentivoglio  is  turning  his  back  on  them,  Don  Michele  is 
working  them ;  he  makes  Gravina  dizzy  with  arguments, 
Vitellozzo  with  flatteries,  Pagolo  with  presents,  Oliverotto  with 
dark  threats  and  secret  promises ;  he  entangles  them  all 
together  in  a  mesh  of  protestations,  and — a  miracle,  this,  but 
it  has  occurred  before,  and  will  occur  again — although  these 
four  roysterers  know  exactly  what  to  make  of  my  advances 
and  my  pity,  they  will  come,  they  will  come,  I  tell  you,  and 
run  to  throw  themselves  at  my  feet.  Nothing  can  save  them. 
Heaven  and  their  characters  will  it  so. 

MACHIAVELLI  (stroking  his  chin) :  The  world  is  really  an 
interesting  study. 

DUKE  :   Come,  we  have  rambled  enough.     To  horse !     We 
shall  stop  at  Fano.     I  suppose  it  is  there  that  my  opponents 
will  come  to  beg  my  mercy. 
MACHIAVELLI :  At  your  orders,  my  lord. 


115 


TITK    RENAISSANCE 

SLNIGAGLIA. 

The  tent  of  the  Orsini. — Pagolo,  Vitellozzo,  \itelli. 

VITELLOZZO  :  The  town  is  taken  ;  but  the  castle  will  not 
ag^ree  to  surrender  to  anyone  but  the  Valentinois  in  person. 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think  ? 
PAGOLO:  Yes. 

VITELLOZZO  :  The  rogue  of  a  Governor  has  been  insti- 
gated by  the  Duke  himself  to  take  this  step.  He  has  an 
understanding  with  the  Borgia. 

PAGOLO  :  You  scent  trickery  everywhere  ;  perhaps  you  are 
right.  But  what  are  we  to  do?  Since  we  have  returned  to 
the  Borgia's  pay,  we  cannot  discuss  such  matters. 
VITELLOZZO  :  The  result  will  be  that  having  stipulated 
with  jMichele  that  we  should  remain  in  our  camp  and  he  in  his, 
we  shall  find  ourselves  under  his  claws — for  he  will  certainly 
come. 

PAGOLO  :  That  is  clear.  I  console  myself  by  reflecting  that 
this  critical  situation  cannot  last  long.  I  confess  I  am  anxious  ; 
I  would  rather  know  at  once  what  course  to  take.  I  hope  the 
Duke  has  none  but  good  intentions. 

VITELLOZZO:  What  are  the  grounds  for  your  hope? 
PAGOLO  :  What  leads  you  to  think  he  will  quarrel  straight 
away  with  the  four  leading  condottieri  of  Italy  .-'  Our  support, 
our  protection  is  worth  gold.  Our  heads,  once  cut  off,  would 
be  worth  nothing.  Then,  we  have  at  our  backs  those  two 
great,  illustrious,  powerful  houses  of  the  Vitelli  and  the  Orsini, 
the  most  splendid  in  the  Romagna,  and  therefore  in  the  whole 
world.  How  many  cardinals,  bishops  and  lords  are  there 
whom  it  would  do  no  good  to  provoke ! 

VITELLOZZO  :  Once  I  am  murdered  it  will  matter  little  to 
me  whether  the  murderer  has  made  a  blunder. 
PAGOLO  :  Bah,  rashness  lies  in  anticipating  everything !   Let 
us  swim  with  the  stream :  with  skill  we  shall  be  able  to  cut 
across  and  reach  the  bank. 
VITELLOZZO  :   I  can  only  say  that  I  feel  sick  at  heart. 

ii6 


CESARE    BORGIA 

PAGOLO  :  Well,  then  it  is  you  who  will  die — not  I,  who  have 

confidence. 

Trumpets. — Enter  Gravina,  Oliverotto  and  Don  Michele, 

GRAVINA  :  To  horse !     Our  squadrons  are  afoot. 
PAGOLO:  What  news? 

GRAVINA :  The  Duke  is  coming.  His  runners  are  already 
in  sight. 

VITELLOZZO  :  Michele  !  Michele  !  You  are  betraying  us, 
you  villain ! 

DON  MICHELE  :  What  ?  Betraying  you  ?  Explain  your- 
self, sir.     Is  it  I  that  decides  ? 

OLIVEROTTO :  He  is  right.  Gravina  and  I  had  the  call 
to  horse  sounded.  As  the  castle  will  only  surrender  to  the 
Borgia,  that  explains  why  he  comes.  It  is  an  unforeseen 
event,  that  is  all.  Do  you  wish  to  be  hemmed  in  between  the 
enemy  and  the  master? 

VITELLOZZO :  I  do  not  know  how  things  stand ;  I  assure 
you,  I  vow  to  you  that  we  are  lost.  All  my  warnings  have 
been  unavailing.  The  Trojans  would  not  believe  Cassandra 
either,  nor  the  jews  their  prophets. 

OLIVEROTTO:  The  devil  take  you!  You  are  speaking 
to  one  who  is  experienced  in  ambuscades ;  was  it  not  I  who 
had  my  uncle  Giovanni  Fogliani  and  his  creatures  killed  while 
they,  poor  fools,  thought  they  were  quietly  sitting  down  to 
supper  with  me  ?  You  will  go  politely  to  meet  the  Valentinois, 
and  I  will  stay  before  the  town  gate  with  my  companies.  If 
anyone  shows  any  sign  of  laying  hands  on  you,  we  are  by  tar 
the  stronger  and — we  shall  see ! 

DON  MICHELE :  Nothing  could  be  plainer.     One  must  be 
blind  not  to  see  it,  and  as  soon  as  we  consent  to  such  an 
arrangement,  you  are  bound  to  realise  that  we  act  in  good 
faith. 
PAGOLO  :  True.     Come !  to  horse !     The  Duke  arrives ! 


it; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

The  country  before  Sinigaglia. — At  some  distance,  in  the  background,  the 
town  gate,  held  by  the  free-lances'  foot-soldiers.  Squadrons  in 
battle  array,  Oliverotto  at  their  head,  with  his  officers.  In  front,  the 
troop  of  the  Valentinois,  inferior  in  numbers  to  the  companies  of  the 
condotticri  drawn  up  on  the  right  ;  the  Duke,  Machiavelli,  Seigneur 
de  Candalle,  Balthazar  Castiglione,  Don  Michcle,  Don  Ugo,  Marcan- 
tonio  da  Fano,  Leniolo,  Mgr.  d'Allegri,  and  other  captains,  all  on 
horseback. 

DUKE:  Michele! 

DON  MICHELE:  My  lord? 

DUKE :  Bring  your  horse  up  to  mine.     Put  his  head  forward. 

Now,  hsten !     Here  are  our  free-lances  approaching.     When 

I  have  spoken  to  them,  two  of  you  will  take  each  of  them  .  .  . 

so  as  to  do  them  honour  .  .  .  you  understand  ?  .  .  .  And  you 

will  not  leave  their  side. 

DON  MICHELE :  No,  my  lord. 

DUKE:   What  does  this  mean?     Oliverotto  has  remained 

behind  ? 

DON  MICHELE  :  Yes,  your  Highness.     He  is  over  yonder 

at  the  head  of  his  troops.     That  was  the  arrangement  they 

made. 

DUKE :  Pass  behind  us,  take  a  detour,  rejoin  Oliverotto  and, 

at  all  costs,  bring  him  here.     At  all  costs !     You  understand 

me  and  promise  to  do  so  ? 

DON  MICHELE :  But,  my  lord 

DUKE :   You    hear   me  ?  .  .  .  You    promise   me !     Lose   no 
time ;  be  off  at  once ! 

Don  Michele  gallops  off.     The  Captains  come  up  and  salute. 

DUKE  :  Welcome,  friends !  Heaven  be  praised,  there  are  no 
more  misunderstandings  between  us.  I  might  have  some 
reason  to  scold  you  for  your  follies,  but  what  is  there  that  our 
affection  and — I  may  confess — our  true  interests  do  not 
forgive  ?  Your  hand,  Duke  de  Gravina !  Greeting,  Vitel- 
lozzo !  Greeting,  Pagolo !  Come  to  my  side.  I  never  feel 
near  enough  to  you.  My  strength  lies  in  my  soldiers'  lances. 
GRAVINA :   We    have  sinned,  Monsignor,  forgetting  what 

Ii8 


CESARE    BORGIA 

your  real  feelings  were.  We  shall  know  how  to  repair  our 
faults  by  our  ser\'ices. 

DUKE  :  I  have  every  confidence  that  you  will.  (To  the 
courtiers.)  Gentlemen,  take  charge  of  our  guests,  and  if  you 
value  my  friendship,  try  to  win  theirs. 

The  horsemen,  notified  by  Don  Michele,  surround  the  three  captains  ; 
Don  Michele  comes  up  with  OUverotto. 

Ah,  Signer  Oliverotto,  where  were  you  staying? 

OLIVEROTTO  (a  trifle  pale)  :  Monsignor,  I  was  at  my  post ; 

I  should  not  have  wished  any  treachery  on  the  part  of  the 

castellans  to  mar  this  glorious  day. 

DUKE  :  Those  who  are  frank  fear  no  guile,  and  I  am  afraid 

of  no  man.     I  have  forgotten  the  past. 

OLIVEROTTO :  Thanks,  my  lord. 

DUKE :  As  we  talk,  we  are  getting  on,  and  here  we  are, 

I  think,  at  my  residence.     I  have  a  fine  town  to  thank  you 

for,  gentlemen. 

GRAVINA :   We  wish  to  give  you  a  thousand   others  far 

finer,  my  Lord. 

DUKE  :  You  will  not  lack  opportunities  to  realise  that  wish. 

Let  us  dismount  and  go  indoors. 

The   Duke,    the   free-lances    and    all   the   retinue   dismount.     Great 
crowding  and  confusion. 

What  a  noise  !   Order,  gentlemen !   Do  not  be  in  such  a  hurry ! 

Monseigneur  de  Candalle,  a  word  with  you,  please.     (Draws 

him  aside.)     Your  men-at-arms  are  in  the  saddle  ? 

Mgr.  de  CANDALLE  :  Yes,  my  lord.    I  have  received  orders 

from  Don  Michele. 

DUKE :   Rejoin    them.     Attack   the  free-lances  vigorously. 

They  will  be  taken  by  surprise,  and   no  longer  have  their 

leaders.     The  booty  is  yours. 

Mgr.  de  CANDALLE :  Yes,  my  lord. 

Exit. 
THE  DUKE  (goes  upstairs,  followed  by  the  four  captains, 
surrounded  by  his  troops  on  all  sides.  He  enters  a  lofty  room 
and  turns  suddenly) :  Arrest  those  traitors  and  disarm  them ! 

119 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

OLIVEROTTO:  Ah,  you  villain! 

He  is  knocked  do\vn  by  a  blow  of  the  fist.      The  courtiers  and  the 
soldiers  hurl  themselves  on  the  others  and  gag  them. 

DUKE :  Take  these  men  into  the  next  room  and  keep  watch 

over  them.  ...  I  want  to  know  what  Mgr.  de  Candalle  is 

doing. 

DON  MICHELE  (a't  a  window) :  The  free-lances  did  not 

await   the   charge.     They   are    in   headlong   flight,   and   the 

French,  who  have  massacred  many  of  them,  are  disbanding 

and  pillaging  the  houses  of  the  town. 

DUKE :   Run  and  see  that  a  dozen  of  those  savages  are 

hanged !     No  one  shall  be  allowed  to  do  anything  without  my 

orders. 

Exit  Don  Michele  hastily. 
Where  is  Michelotto  ? 

MICHELOTTO  (executioner) :  Here  I  am,  my  lord. 

DUKE:  Have  you  new  ropes? 

MICHELOTTO  :  Quite  new ;   and  my  axe,  my  cutlass  and 

my  assistants. 

DUKE :  Go  in  there.       I  will  watch  you  at  work.     Strangle 

one  after  the  other !     I  will  look  on. 

Michelotto  unrolls  his  ropes  from  round  his  waist  and  goes  into  the 
room. 

Come,  gentlemen,  a  little  amusement  after  so  much  hard  work  ! 

He  opens  the  door,   followed   by  his  retinue  ;   stampings,   terrible 
shrieks,  then  silence  and  laughter. 


The  house  occupied  by  the  Duke. — A  terrace  looking  out  on  to  the  sea  ; 
moonlight. — After  supper  ;  the  Duke  is  half  lying  down  on  cushions  ; 
Machiavelh  ;  Don  Michele  ;  musicians  finishing  a  motet. 

DUKE :  I  am  very  fond  of  this  new  music.  We  are  in  a 
great  century,  Messer  Niccolo.  Everything  is  being  renewed. 
The  other  evening  I  had  read  to  me  a  passage  of  Virgil, 
exceedingly    beautiful,    like    every    product    of    that    divine 

1 20 


CESARE    BORGIA 

intellect,  and  I  noted  this  phrase :  "  A  majestic  order  is  coming 
to  birth."  It  seems  that  it  is  thus  in  our  present  age.  How 
true  it  is  of  these  days !  The  air  that  has  just  been  performed 
is  tinged  with  the  softest  melancholy.  Go,  my  children,  I 
have  no  further  need  of  your  services  for  this  evening.  Let 
them  each  be  given  a  gold  florin.  Michele,  are  you  certain 
that  the  French  looters  who  attacked  Sinigaglia  have  been 
hanged  ? 

DON  MICHELE:  Yes,  my  lord.  Perhaps  it  was  a  trifle 
overdone.  You  said  a  dozen,  and  I  fear  there  are  more. 
DUKE  :  The  joke  is  rather  good.  And  the  looting?  .... 
DON  MICHELE  :  Stopped  at  once,  Monsignor. 
DUKE  :  That  was  the  chief  thing.  You  will  have  the  men 
who  have  been  hanged  taken  down.  They  will  be  quartered, 
and  a  portion  of  each  will  be  fixed  up  in  the  different  streets  of 
the  town.  It  is  as  well  that  my  subjects  should  know  that  I 
do  not  allow  them  to  be  oppressed. 

DON  AIICHELE:  They  know  it  already,  my  lord,  and  are 
showering  benedictions  on  your  name. 

DUKE  :  They  will  have  to  know  it  even  better,  and  therefore 
do  as  I  command.  What  is  more,  don't  omit  to  spread  the 
report  that  my  special  desire  is  to  destroy  the  French.  Our 
people  cannot  be  too  strongly  roused  to  hate  these  savages, 
and  their  hatred  must  be  mingled  with  contempt.   Go,  Michele. 

Exit  Don  Michele. 

We  have  just  solved  our  problem,  Messer  Niccolo. 

MACHIAVELLI  :    I   will    make  so  bold  as  to  offer  your 

Highness  a  single  observation. 

DUKE  :  Speak  frankly,  by  all  means. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Seeing  that  you  have  preferred  justice  to 

mercy,  was  there  not  some  risk    in  executing  the  two  Orsini? 

Their  house  is  powerful. 

DUKE  :  I  had  written  to  Rome.     This  morning  I  learnt  that 

the  Cardinal,  the  Archbishop  of  Florence,  and  Messer  Jacopo 

da    Santa    Croce    have    been    surprised    and    arrested,    as    I 

121 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

recommended  to  His  Holiness.      Without  this  success  there 
would  have  been  some  hitch  in  my  progress. 
MACHIAVELLI :   Then  .there  seems  to  me  no  flaw  in  the 
scheme. 

DUKE  :  Observe  that  it  means  not  four  rogoies  less  in  Italy, 
but  the  four  condottieri  who  are  by  far  the  most  formidable ! 
After  them  there  remains  only  small  fry,  such  as  can  be 
accounted  for  without  much  trouble.  By  means  of  steel  and 
hemp  I  have  staunched  a  horrible  wound.  Some  centuries 
from  now  men  will  hardly  be  able  to  believe  that  such  a  system 
ever  existed.  Captains  of  troops  attached  to  no  party,  no  state, 
no  government — entering  and  leaving  the  service  of  princes 
at  their  will — eating  up  the  princes'  substance  under  the  pre- 
text of  pay  and  that  of  their  subjects  by  every  form  of  caprice ! 
What  an  anomaly !  What  folly !  And  from  this  source  came 
the  Sforza,  who  took  Milan,  and  after  them  the  Carmagnola, 
the  terror  of  Venice.  Upon  my  life,  I  have  done  you  all  the 
most  signal  service  you  could  possibly  demand ! 
MACHIAVELLI :  Beyond  all  question,  my  lord,  and  thanks 
to  you,  I,  too,  can  repeat  the  words  of  Virgil :  Magnus  nascitur 
ordo.  And  now,  by  forming  militias  recruited  not  from 
brigands  but  from'  sons  of  farmers,  such  as  will  obey  not  their 
captains  but  their  sovereigns,  you  will  complete  your  task 
DUKE  :  Time  is  needed — time,  not  to  give  me  a  respite,  but 
to  allow  the  intelligence  of  nations  a  chance  of  ripening.  How 
much  there  is  to  change  !  The  great  must  be  curbed,  the  little 
kept  in  their  places,  money  must  be  procured,  and  for  all 
these  needs  certain  and  appropriate  means  must  be  devised. 
How  many  varied  forms  of  action  become  necessary!  These 
are  the  fruits  of  the  will ;  they  grow,  they  develop,  they  bud, 
and  then  they  burst.  Let  us  not  force  the  crop  too  greatly,  or 
it  will  fail !  Time  and  patience  are  required :  no  slackness, 
no  sleepiness,  and  no  haste ! 

MACHIAVELLI :  To  put  a  constraint  not  on  others  but  on 
oneself  is  the  virtue  of  the  strong. 

122 


CESARE    BORGIA 

DUKE  :  What  a  glorious  night !  Look  at  the  admirable 
effect  produced  by  the  broken  light  of  the  moon  on  those 
waves  moving  beneath  the  vast  horizon !  We  need  here  some 
of  our  artists  and  poets  to  explain  all  these  marvels  to  our 
spellbound  senses.  .  .  .  What  can  those  fires  be  that  climb 
the  mountains  in  terraces  ?  Look  yonder. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  they  are  the 
scattered  camp-fires  of  the  free-lances  dispersed  by  Mgr.  de 
Candalle. 

DUKE :  Your  judgment  is  correct.     Those  poor  reptiles  are 
seeking  holes  where  they  may  hide  and  escape. 
MACHLWELLI :  Your  Highness'  crest  is  a  dragon  devour- 
ing serpents. 

DUKE :  And  they  say  that  I  am  insincere  ?  Yes,  indeed,  a 
dragon,  Messer  Niccolo !  I  am  not,  like  the.^\Tetched  Duke 
of  Milan,  a  wretched  viper  swallowing  its  young.  I,  I  am  the 
hydra  of  Lerna,  a  monster  if  you  will,  but  one  that  rends  and 
devours  monsters,  and  I  will  destroy  to  the  very  last  these 
gutter-bom  princes,  these  condottieri  of  base  metal  who 
obstruct  my  path.  From  the  ruins  of  their  nests  I  will  build 
my  eyrie,  and  a  day  will  come  when,  from  the  foot  of  the  Alps 
to  the  Straits  of  Messina,  there  will  be  no  sway  but  mine. 


123 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


FERRARA. 


A  loggia  in  the  ducal  palace. — Donna  Lucreziu  Borgia,  scaled  in  a  gold- 
tassoUcd  arm-chair  is  gazing  at  the  country  ;  near  her,  leaning  against 
cue  of  the  columns  that  support  the  roof,  Don  Alfonso  d'Este,  her 
husband. 

ALFONSO :  1  must  confess  your  brother  lias  freed  himself 
well  from  this  entanglement.  Me  approached  the  Gordian 
knot  at  first  with  caution,  he  handled  it  with  skill,  he  seized 
it  with  resolution,  and  he  cut  it  like  an  Alexander. 
LUCREZIA:  He  is  now  far  stronger  and  safer  than  ever. 
Such  a  crisis  stimulates  those  who  pass  it  successfully.  1  here- 
fore  it  seems  to  me  that  you  had  best  be  on  your  guard  against 
the  Duke  of  Valentinois. 

ALFONSO :  Do  you  not  think,  Lucrezia,  that  he  has  done 
all  the  princes  an  eminent  service  ?  Henceforth  we  who  hold 
the  sceptre  will  also  alone  hold  the  sword. 
LUCREZIA:  That  may  be,  but  I  want  you  to  think,  above 
all,  of  the  increase  of  prestige  and  power  which  the  Duke  of 
Valentinois  has  acquired.  I  ask  myself  what  he  will  want 
to  do  with  it 

ALFONSO :  Surely  he  will  begin  by  strengthening  his  posi- 
tion in  the  Romagna,  and  for  some  time  he  will  have  his  hands 
full  with  the  Venetians  and  the  Aragonese.  He  will  there- 
fore need  our  help,  and  I  shall  dole  out  just  enough  assistance 
to  prevent  him  from  falling,  without  setting  him  firmly 
upright. 

LUCREZIA :  I  fancy  you  do  not  really  understand  Don 
Cesare.  He  is  not  the  man  to  nibble  thus  at  the  grapes  of 
fortune.  You  may  take  it  for  granted  that  he  will  make  sure 
of  the  Romagna  in  such  a  way  as  to  spare  no  one.  Before 
long  he  will  strike  a  mighty  blow,  and  I  am  convinced  that 
even  at  this  moment  his  actual  possessions  are  his  least  con- 
sideration. 

ALFONSO:  What  do  you  expect  him  to  attempt?  How- 
ever indefatigable  he  may  be,  he  must  take  some  time  to 
regain  his  balance.     Besides,  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him, 

124 


CESARE    BORGIA 

for  the  simple  reason  that  our  mainstay — that  is,  France — is 
the  same,  and  I  am  certain  that  Louis  XII.  would  not  let  me  be 
attacked. 

LUCREZIA  :  I  do  not  say  that  the  Duke  of  Valentinois  is 
thinking  of  attacking  you,  and  I  do  not  flatter  myself  that  I  can 
guess  what  he  is  thinking  of.  But,  taking  things  in  the  lump, 
and  knowing  him  as  I  do,  I  feel  certain  that  he  is  planning  to 
keep  what  he  holds,  not  by  supporting  it,  but  rather  by  enlarging 
it.  He  will  begin  by  attacking  one  of  his  neighbours,  I  know 
not  which  ;  but  he  will  crush  that  neighbour,  and  I  consider 
that  each  fresh  accession  of  strength  makes  him  formidable  to 
us,  seeing  that  if  Fate  herself  put  the  whole  world  into  his 
hards  M.  de  Valentinois  would  never  say  "  That  is  enough." 
As  for  Louis  XII.,  he  has  indeed  good  reasons  for  keeping 
faith  with  you,  and  you  can  do  much  for  or  against  him ;  but 
his  irrepressible  weakness  for  his  Minister,  M.  d'Amboise,  and 
the  unhealthy  ambition  which  draws  that  favourite  towards  the 
Papal  tiara,  the  skill  that  the  Duke  of  Valentinois  has  shown 
in  persuading  him  that  he  has  the  sole  disposal  of  the  Papacy 
after  the  death  of  Alexander  VI. — these  are  reasons  more  than 
enough  for  my  brother 'to  be  all-powerful  with  the  French. 
You  will  say  they  would  make  a  grievous  blunder  in  helping 
him  to  grow  too  strong.  But  blunders — it  seems  to  me  that 
human  affairs  are  woven  of  hardly  any  other  stuff. 
ALFONSO  :  I  am  impressed  by  your  arguments.  I  begin 
to  see,  in  fact,  that  Don  Cesare's  greatness  is  becoming 
dangerous.  All  the  same,  I  cannot  guess  what  kind  of  pre- 
cautions I  ought  to  take.  To  show  defiance.  .  .  . 
LUCREZIA:  Would  be  the  worst  policy.  On  the  contrary, 
you  are  Don  Cesare's  natural  ally,  and  it  is  not  advisable  to 
appear  to  forget  that. 

ALFONSO  :  I  have  just  sent  one  of  my  officers  to  congratu- 
late him  on  the  execution  at  Sinigaglia. 

LUCREZIA :  Suppose  you  were  secretly  to  advise  the 
Venetians,  the  Florentines,  and  even  the  Aragonesc  to  be  on 
their  guard,  seeing  that  we  do  not  know  whom  the  Duke  of 

125 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Valentinois  will  assail  next.  ...  In  this  way  you  would 
strengihea  the  power  of  resistance  without  appearing  to  do  so, 
and  would  be  domg  good  service  to  an  enemy  who  would  later 
on  repay  you  in  kind. 

ALFONSO  :  Vou  are  riglit— that  is  the  line  I  shall  follow. 
LUCREZIA:    In  any  case,  it  cannot  do  you  any  harm.     I 
must  not  forget  to  read  you  this  amusing  letter. 
ALFONSO:  From  whom  is  it? 

LUCREZIA:  From  your  sister,  the  Duchess  of  Mantua.  You 
know    that     young    Florentine     sculptor,     Michael     Angelo 
Buonarotti,  of  whom  they  are  beginning  to  talk  so  much  ? 
ALFONSO  :  He  does  admirable  work,  and  I  should  be  very 
glad  to  attract  him  to  our  court. 

LUCREZIA :  Well,  this  Michael  Angelo  has  made  a  statue 
of  Eros,  so  beautiful  that  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  advised 
him  to  let  it  pass  for  an  antique.  The  Cardinal  of  San  Giorgio, 
who  has  little  knowledge  of  the  line  arts.  .  .  . 
ALFONSO  :  He's  an  inveterate  fool  and  ignoramus. 
LUCREZA:  You  are  hard  on  him;  but  in  this  case  he 
justifies  your  remarks.  He  bought  the  statue.  By  chance  he 
learnt  afterwards  that  it  was  modern.  You  can  imagine  his 
discomfiture.  He  frets  and  fumes,  and  in  his  contempt  for  a 
work  that  has  become  for  him  unworthy  to  be  looked  at,  he 
wishes  to  sell  it.  The  Duke  of  Valentinois  gets  wind  of  the 
affair.  You  know  how  exquisite  his  taste  is  ;  he  immediately 
buys  the  despised  masterpiece  and  makes  a  present  of  it  to 
your  sister ;  she  tells  me  the  story,  and  is  beside  herself  with 
joy. 

ALFONSO  :  Yes,  we  must  certainly  have  Michael  Angelo 
here.  He  is  young,  he  is  a  fine  artist,  and  he  will  become  one 
of  the  master-craftsmen  of  Italy. 

LUCREZIA:  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion.  Besides,  our 
court  must  surpass  all  the  others,  and  now  that  the  French  are 
established  at  Milan,  all  the  men  of  genius  and  learning 
assembled  at  such  expense  by  Ludovico  Sforza  are  homeless. 
Would  you  not  be  glad  to  welcome  here  Antonio  Cornazano, 

126 


CESARE    BORGIA 

who  dedicated  to  me  his  two  poems  on  the  life  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  and  of  our  Lord  ?  and  Giorgio  Robustd,  of  Alessandria, 
who  offered  me  his  poems  ? 

ALFONSO  :  Please  have  written  for  me  at  once  the  letters 
of  invitation  to  all  these  excellent  writers.  Let  them  be 
couched  in  the  most  flattering  terms  ;  I  will  sign  them  myself. 
You  give  me  great  pleasure  in  allowing  me  the  hope  of  adding 
these  great  intellects  to  those  we  possess  already. 
LUCREZIA :  Ah,  if  we  could  only  take  from  your  sister's 
court  Giovanni  Piero  Arrivabene  and  II  Spagnolo ! 
ALFONSO :  Certainly,  certainly,  I  should  like  to  do  so  ;  but 
we  are  not  so  poor  in  merit  that  we  have  a  right  to  complain. 
True,  death  has  lately  robbed  us  of  the  inimitable,  the 
admirable  Boiardo  ;  but  we  still  have  Francesco  Cieco,  Lelio, 
the  two  Strozzi,  and  that  young  Ludovico  Ariosto,  of  whom 
I  hear  wonders. 

LUCREZIA :  He  deserves  the  highest  praise,  and  the  Latin 
epithalamium  which  he  wrote  for  our  wedding  is  one  of  the 
fmest  things  of  our  age. 

ALFONSO  :  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  as  you  say  so.  You 
certainly  have  more  understanding  of  poetry  and  literature 
than  I  ;  what  I  know,  and  what  I  repeat,  is  that  our  Ferrara 
must  not  yield  to  any  Italian  city  in  reverence  for  great 
talents,  and  I  confess  to  you  that  I  could  wish  to  hear  it  said 
that  my  court  holds  them  all. 

LUCREZIA :  It  is  an  ambition  worthy  of  you,  my  lord. 
ALFONSO :  Plave  a  letter  written  at  once  to  your  three 
scholars ;  I  will  attend  to  the  fresh  instructions  which  have 
to  be  sent  to  Venice,  to  Florence  and  to  Naples ;  then  I  will 
visit  the  workshops  where  they  are  making  my  new  artillery. 
What  a  pity,  Lucrezia,  that  you  do  not  understand  these 
matters  as  well  as  you  understand  poetry !  I  should  be  glad 
to  discuss  them  with  you..  Do  you  know  that  nothing  in  the 
world  is  so  interesting  as  the  expositions  of  mathematicians 
and  engineers? 
LUCREZIA  :  I  can  well  believe  you,  Don  Alfonso,  but  there 

N  12/ 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

IS  no  need  for  me  to  be  very  clever.  It  pleases  me  to  hear 
that  you  know  more  of  these  things  than  all  the  other  captanis 
of  our  tunc.  That  is  enough  for  my  glory,  and  while  you  see 
some  culverin  cast,  1  will,  by  your  leave,  take  my  walk  with 
my  ladies  in  the  gardens  we  have  just  planted. 
ALFONSO  :  Go,  Lucrezia  ;  I  kiss  your  hand. 


A   VILLAGE   IN   THE    ROMAGNA. 

Assembly  of  the  secret  societies  kuown  as  Pacifici. — Armed  peasants  ; 
two  bravos. 

FIRST  BRAVO  (saluting):   Bcati  Pacifici! 

LEADER  OF  THE  PEASANTS:  You  are  honest  men; 

we  thank  you  for  having  both  come. 

FIRST   BRAVO  :    We  should  not  have  cared  to  miss  the 

appointment.     You    should    have    a    better    opinion,    most 

illustrious  Signors,  of  our  eagerness  to  offer  our  services  to 

such  respectable  gentlemen  as  yourselves. 

LEADER  :  Thanks  for  your  kind  words.     So  you  have  been 

sent  by  his  Highness? 

FIRST    BRAVO:     Yes,    Don    Cesare    Borgia,    Duke    of 

Romagna,  and  no  other,  has  dispatched  us  to  you.     Here  is  a 

ring  he  has  delivered  to  us  as  token  of  gratitude. 

LEADER :    That   is  just  as  we    understood.     Take   seats, 

gentlemen  ;   you  must  be  tired. 

FIRST  BRAVO  :  It  is  good  to  sit  down.     This  cavalier  and 

I  have  just  ridden  a  stage  of  twenty  leagues  without  stopping, 

and  however  accustomed  one  may  be  to  the  fatigues  of  war, 

one  can  hardly  be  blamed  for  being  a  little  stiff  in  the  legs. 

LEADER  :   You  know  perhaps  for  what  reason  your  presence 

here  is  requested  ? 

FIRST  BRAVO  :   The  Duke  gave  us  some  idea. 

LEADER  :  Without  offence,  are  you  as  sure  of  your  comrade 

as  of  yourself?     The  affair  in  question  is  delicate,  and  it  is 

comforting  to  know  with  whom  one  has  to  deal. 

FIRST  BRAVO  :  I  applaud  your  prudence.     Know  that  my 

128 


CESARE    BORGIA 

friend  is  one  of  the  champions  of  our  age.     You  might  almost 

apply  to  him  the  famous  jest  of  Plutarch,  in  his  admirable 

Roman  history,  when  in  speaking  of  an  excellent  captain  he 

said  to  him  :  "  He  would  not  dare  to  remain  in  a  room  alone 

with  a  looking-glass,  he  would  be  afraid  of  seeing  his  own 

reflection."     Indeed,  when  this  cavalier  dons  his  martial  air, 

me  effect  is  terrifying !     If  he  speaks  but  little,  it  is  because  he 

is  all  action. 

LEADER  :  Now  let  us  come  to  our  business.     The  task  is  to 

get  rid  of  Malatesta. 

BRAVO  :   Nothing  easier. 

LEADER  :  But  do  you  know  that  he  never  walks  out  without 

a  long  troop  of  counsellors  at  his  heels  ? 

BRAVO  :  That  matters  little !    My  comrade  and  I  are  in  the 

habit  of  surmounting  the  most  thorny  difficulties.     Only  tell 

me  what  kind  of  solution  you  want. 

LEADER  :  I  do  not  take  your  meaning. 

BRAVO  :  Is  it  enough  for  you  if  Signor  Malatesta  gets  what 

we  swordsmen  call  a  first  notice,  which  would  keep  him  to  his 

bed  ...  let  us  say  .  .  .  for  a  month  or  two  ?     If  you  need 

no  more  to  satisfy  you,  say  so. 

LEADER  :  We  would  rather  make  an  end  of  him. 

BRAVO  :  Admirable !     Carry  things  through  to  the  end,  eh  ? 

Perfect !     That  point  is  settled  ?     Good !     Now  we'll  come  to 

the  means.     Have  you  any  preference  ?     How  would  you  like 

your  man  to  be  dispatched  ? 

LEADER  :   As  quickly  and  as  safely  as  possible. 

BRAVO  :  So  I  understand  ;  my  comrade  and  I  never  do  things 

by  halves.     As  we  have  to  deal  with  one  who  is  forewarned 

and  on  his  guard,  I  make  you  the  following  proposal. 

LEADER  :  What  is  that  implement? 

The  spectators  crowd  round  to  look. 
BRAVO  :  Ah,  a  little  masterpiece !  Yet  to  outward  seeming 
a  table-fork,  and  nothing  more !  See  what  a  pretty  fork  it  is, 
all  in  burnished  and  chiselled  silver!  Do  you  not  admire  this 
figure  placed  above  the  three  prongs  ?     Watch !     I  press  like 

N  2  129 


IHE    RMNAISSANCE 

this    upon    the    head  .  .  .  tlie    feet   rise    imperceptibly.  .  .  . 
Look!     There  is  a  hollow.     Do  you  sec  this  hollow? 
THE  PEASANTS  :  Ay,  ay,  we  do. 

liRAVO  :  Well,  if  in  this  hollow  1  put  a  preparation,  a  little 
powder,  some  drops  of  liquid,  and  if  the  carver,  at  the  moment  of 
carving  the  meat  for  the  guest  whom  I  have  in  view,  manages 
the  fork  deftly.  .  .  .  You  understand?  .  .  .  The  powder  or 
the  potion  falls  on  the  morsel  which  the  hungry  man  is  to  carry 
to  his  lips.  That  is  all  there  is  in  it,  and  for  fifty  ducats  or  so 
I  shall  win  for  myself  the  friendship  of  any  servant  you  choose 
in  the  Malatesta  household. 

LEADER  :  An  excellent  device  ;  but  if  this  servant,  with  the 
work  in  his  hand  and  the  ducats  in  his  pocket,  went  and  told 
his  master  all,  in  the  hope  of  raising  another  sum,  we  should 
get  no  return  for  our  money.  No!  We  prefer  to  deal  with 
you  alone. 

BRAVO :  I  only  proposed  my  idea  to  you  because  it  is  really 
a  charming  one,  and  the  instrument  is  still  unknown !  One  of 
my  best  friends  is  the  inventor.  You  don't  want  it?  Very 
well !  I  will  get  at  him  some  other  way,  and  as  for  finding  the 
means,  that  is  my  affair.  Let  me  see !  The  glass  stiletto 
breaking  in  the  wound  would  do  pretty  well.  ...  I  will  con- 
sider !  .  .  .  Do  you  insist  on  the  whole  matter  being  settled 
by  a  fixed  date  ? 

LEADER :  The  sooner  the  better. 

FIRST  BRAVO:  I  understand!  .  .  .  Here  we  are  at  the 
fifth  of  May.  My  comrade-in-arms  and  I  ought  to  find  our- 
selves on  the  20th  of  June  at  Vicenza,  where  the  most  serene 
Signory  of  Venice  honoured  us  with  a  mission.  Between 
now  and  then,  your  discussion  with  Signor  Malatesta  will  be 
over ;  you  can  count  upon  my  word. 

LEADER:   Many  thanks!     Here  are  a  hundred  ducats  in 
advance. 
BRAVO:  No  matter!  .  .     No  matter!  .  .  .  It's  of  no  conse- 

130 


CESARE    BORGIA 

quence !  .  .  .  All  for  the  pleasure  of  doing  you  a  service. 
Thanks  all  the  same.     W'e  kiss  your  Lordships'  hand. 

The  Bravos  wthdrew. — Enter  Romagnese  Gentlemen. 
FIRST  GENTLEMAN:   Good  evening,  friends!     Already 
re-united  and  in  agreement? 
LEADER:  We  are  only  awaiting  you. 

GENTLEMAN:  Well,  here  we  are!  Countrymen  all,  good 
friends,  good  neighbours,  all  Pacifici,  leagued  to  establish  and 
maintain  order  against  the  factions  and  the  tyrants,  neither 
Guelphs  nor  Ghibellines,  nor  friends  of  the  Malatesta,  nor 
tools  of  the  Baglioni ;  but  friends  to  ourselves,  to  our  families, 
to  the  public  peace !  Well,  then,  most  illustrious  signers,  let 
us  settle  our  plans  and  consider  how  best  to  act. 
A  PEASANT :  So  long  as  there  are  towns  in  the  world,  there 
will  be  burgesses,  and  with  burgesses  peace  is  impossible.  I 
have  a  cousin  who  is  watchman  at  one  of  the  gates  at  Rimini. 
In  an  emergency  he  would  not  refuse  to  allow  us  an  entry. 
Suppose  we  did  a  little  ransacking  in  the  houses  of  thil 
villainous  town. 
A  GENTLEMAN  :  An  excellent  idea. 

General  murmur  of  approval. 
LEADER  OF  THE  PEASANTS:  Most  illustrious  signers, 
let  us  come  to  an  understanding!  With  whom  we  are  allied? 
With  the  condottieri  ? 

THE  WHOLE  ASSEMBLY:  Heaven  forbid! 
LEADER  :   Then  you  are  allies  of  the  Guelphs,  where  the 
lord  is  Ghibelline,  and  with  the  Ghibellines,  where  the  prince 
is  Guelph  ?     Is  that  so  ? 

Violent  murmurs. 
No    more  ?     In    this    case,    you,    true,    honest    and    excellent 
Pacifici,  you  give  your  hands  to  Don  Cesare  Borgia  ? 
SEVERAL  VOICES:  Certainly! 

LEADER:  Then  don't  lay  a  finger  on  Rimini!  The  Duke 
will  have  no  meddling  with  his  arrangements  ;  we  had  better 
listen  to  the  message  he  sends  us.  He  now  proposes  to  carry 
out  in  Tuscany  what  he  has  just  finished  in  the  cities  of  the 

I  ^i 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Romagna — to  destroy  the  tyrannies  of  every  sort,  to  humble 
the  great  and  raise  the  lowly.     Do  we  follow  that  lead? 
THE  ASSEMBLY:  Yes!  yes!     Long  live  the  Valentinois! 
LEADER:  Shall  we  write  to  the  Duke  that  he  can  count 
upon  us? 

THE  ASSEMBLY:  Let  us  write!     Long  live  the  Valen- 
tinois!    Bcati  Pacifici!     We'll  burn  Florence! 


MILAN. 

The  interior  of  the  cathedral. — High  mass  is  being  chanted  ;  several  clerics 
in  tlie  choir  ;  a  great  crowd  in  the  nave  and  at  the  back. 

IN  THE  CHOIR 
A  CANON  (on  his  knees) :  How  weak  is  my  heart !  How 
cold  my  soul !  Alas !  I  have  not  the  power  to  penetrate  deeply 
nito  the  ineffable  bounties  of  my  God!  I  would  fain  raise 
myself  to  the  Throne  of  the  Almighty !  .  .  .  I  would  fain  lose 
myself  in  its  rays !  .  .  .  My  God !  help  me !  My  God ! 
uphold  me ! 

He  prostrates  himself. 
SECOND  CANON:  Are  you  dining  with  us  at  the  Arch- 
bishop's ? 

THIRD  CANON  :  I  am  !     We  shall  have  a  most  superb  trout ! 
SECOND  CANON :  It  will  not  be  eatable  if  that  idiot  of  a 
Fra  Lorenzo  does  not  make  haste  and  finish  his  mass.     (To 
a  choir  boy.)     Here,  my  child ! 
CHOIR  BOY  :  Yes,  Monsignor. 

SECOND  CANON  :  Go  and  tell  Fra  Lorenzo  to  hurry  up. 
CHOIR  BOY  (to   the  officiating  priest):    The  Prior,  Dom 
Paolo,  begs  you  to  finish  quickly. 

FRA  LORENZO  :  What  is  he  troubling  about?     I  am  not 
dining     at     the     Archbishop's.     Attention,     fool!     Dominus 
vobisciim! 
CHORISTERS:  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo.'* 


*  The  Lord  be  with  you  .  .  .  And  with  thy  spirit  1 — Tr. 


CESARE    BORGIA 

IN  THE  NAVE. 
A  MENDICANT  FRIAR:   Buy  indulgences!  indulgences! 
They  are  to  be  had  at  all  prices!     Brother  Christians,  buy 
indulgences ! 
A  GAILY-DRESSED  WOMAN  :  Heavens,  how  hot  it  is! 

Fans  herself. 

SECOND  WOMAN  : It's  unbearable!     Pass  me  your  bottle 

of  smelling-salts,  i\Ionna  Bianca,  I  beg  you,  I  have  forgotten 

mine! 

THIRD    WOMAN:    With    pleasure— here    it   is!     What    a 

false  villain  that  Felipe  is ! 

FIRST  WOMAN  :  My  dear,  he  paid  me  court  long  enough 

for  me  to  know  what  to  think  of  him. 

FOURTH  WOMAN  :  That  may  be,  but  he's  good-looking! 

They're  raising  the  Host ! 

All  the  women  kneel  and  beat  their  breasts. 

A  MAN  (to  an  old  dame  in  spectacles  reading  her  missal): 

Madam  .  .  .  madam  .  .  .  will  you  buy  rosaries  blessed  by  the 

Holy  Father? 

THE  OLD  DAME  :   Leave  me  in  peace! 

THE  MAN  :  Madam  .  .  .  will  you  buy  a  relic  of  the  great 

St.  Ambrose  ?     A  bone  from  his  elbow !  .  .  .  Not  dear !  .  .  . 

And  authentic !  .  .  . 

THE  OLD  DAME  :  I  tell  you  to  leave  me  in  peace! 

THE  MAN:  Do  you  want  any  fine  soap  or  Spanish  gloves? 

THE  OLD  DAME :  If  you  don't  leave  me  in  peace,  I'll  call 

the  beadles ! 

The  man  goes  off. 


AT  THE  BACK. 
Two  citizens,  near  a  chapel,  telling  their  beads,  their  caps  under  their  arma. 
FIRST  CITIZEN  :  Et  benedictus  fructus  ventris  tut.  .  .  . 
That  doesn't  prevent  the  rascal's  having  gone  off  without 
paymg  for  the  three  dinners  he  owes  me,  and  may  the  plague 

133 


Till'     UI'\.\lSSANCli: 

seize  mc  il  he'll  ever  pay!  .  .  .  Jesus!     Avicn!  Ave,  Maria, 

gKiiUa  plena,  Doi:itnc.  .  .  . 

SECOND  CITIZEN:  Qui  es  in  cadis,  sanctificetur !  ...   I 

told  you  so  fifty  times !     How  stupid  of  you  to  give  credit  to 

students!     Look  here,  Ser  Guglielmo,  did  I  tell  you  so  or  did 

Inot?  .  .  .  Xomen  tmon,  adx'enial  fi'gninii*  .  .  .  Ucuce  take 

them,  the  students!  ...   If  they  were  to  pay,  they  would  no 

longer  be  students ! 

A  CA\'^ALIER  (to  an  old  woman)  :  See,  dear  Lorenzina,  here 

is  the  note ! 

OLD  WOMAN  :  I  tell  you  once  more,  it's  very  difficult !     She 

rebuffed  me  and  threatened  to  let  her  mother  know ! 

CAVALIER  :  licrc's  another  sequin! 

THE  OLD  WOMAN  :  I'll  try  to  convince  her  ...  but  only 

because  of  my  great  affection  for  you.     If  I  make  you  a  sign, 

stand  behind  her ;  you  can  speak  to  her  then  as  much  as  you 

like. 

CAVALIER:    May  heaven  inspire  you,  or  I  shall  lose  my 

wager. 

The  Sanctus  begins. 
TWO  MENDICANTS  (crying  at  the  top  of  their  voices): 
For  the  crusade  !  For  the  crusade  !  Give  for  the  crusade  I 
Deliver  the  Holy  Tomb !  For  the  crusade !  Lords  and 
ladies,  take  pity  on  the  poor  Christians  slaughtered  every  day 
by  the  savage  Turks  !     For  the  crusade  ! 

Three  evil-faced  boys  near  a  pillar. 
FIRST  BOY:  Is  it  that  gentleman,  yonder? 
SECOND  BOY :  That  one  with  the  sunburnt  complexion  and 
the  little  black  moustache  ? 

THIRD  BOY:  Yes  .  .  .  and  the  black  doublet. 
SECOND  BOY:  A  ruff  round  his  neck,  his  right  hand  in  a 
torn  glove  .  .  .  the  other  ungloved  ? 
THIRD  BOY :  The  very  man. 

•  And  blessed  the  fruit  of  thy  womb  .  .  .  Hail,  Mary,  filled  with  grace. 
Lord  .  .  .  which  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  .  .  .  thy  name,  thy  king- 
dom come  .   .   . 

1.34 


CESARE    BORGIA 

SECOND  BOY :  He's  big  enough  to  knock  me  down  if  he 

turns  round.     I  will  throw  m}'  stiletto  at  ten  paces  and  then 

decamp. 

FIRST  BOY :  If  he  pursues  you,  we'll  make  a  feint  of  passing 

quickly  and  we'll  down  him. 

SECOND  BOY:  Is  that  sure? 

FIRST  BOY :  When  we  tell  you,  you  dolt !  .  .  .  Don't  miss ! 

Strike  the  hip,  crossways!     It's  only  a  matter  of  a  five-inch 

knife-thrust.     We  are  paid  in  advance. 

SECOND  BOY:   Wait  a  moment  till  I've  ht  a  candle  to 

St.  Nicholas. 

FIRST  BOY :  Be  quick  and  come  back.  .  .  .  We  shall  follow 

the  gallant  in  the  lane  behind  the  church.     You'll  be  hiding 

in  the  angle  of  the  wall. 

SECOND  BOY :  Have  no  fear — I  am  certain  of  my  aim. 

He'll  keep  to  his  bed  for  a  fortnight ! 

The  organ  plays —  a  rocket  explodes. 
THE  CROWD  :  Ah !  great  heavens  !  all  is  lost !  The  French 
are  slaughtering  us!  Holy  Madonna,  all  is  lost! 
VOICES  IN  THE  CROWED:  No!  no!  no!  Fear  nothing! 
It's  only  urchins  amusing  themselves !  Jesus !  my  purse  is 
stolen !  Will  you  leave  go  of  my  cloak  ? 
A  WOMAN  (kneeling  in  a  corner):  I  thank  Thee,  God! 
My  poor  brother,  my  poor  brother !  He  won't  die !  Thou 
hast  not  willed  it  so !  Thou  dost  give  him  back  to  me,  I  owe 
him  to  Thee !  All  the  days  of  my  life  I  will  pray  to  Thee !  I 
cannot  repay  my  debt  to  Thee !  How  I  love  Thee  and  see 
Thee  in  Thy  unexampled  goodness !  My  God,  never  forget 
me  !     Guard  my  poor  brother  whom  Thou  hast  restored  to  me  ! 

She  weeps. 
A  NOTARY  (to  his  wife) :  Haven't  you  had  enough  of  your 
devotions  ?     If  we  don't  go  at  once,  we  shall  be  stifled  by  the 
crowd.     Let  us  get  to  the  door,  come !     Make  haste ! 
WIFE  :  I  am  tucking  up  my  skirts  so  as  not  to  be  jostled. 
NOTARY  :  Say  rather  that  you  are  trying  to  make  yourself 

'35 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

noticed!     Do  you  llimk,  Aioiina  roinponia,  that  I  don't  know 
these  tricks?     Do  you  think  you  can  hoodwink  me? 
WIFE  :  Who  dreams  of  hoodwinking  you?     Let  me  just  say 
one  more  Ave. 

NOTARY :  You  can  say  it  as  you  go  along.  What  are  you 
doing  now  ? 

WIFE:  I  am  going  to  take  some  holy  water,  if  I  can,  but 
there  is  a  great  crowd  round  it. 

A  CAVALIER:  Will  you  permit  me,  madam,  to  ofter  you 
some? 

THE  LADY:  Most  willingly,  signor.  .  .  .  (Very  low.)  Come 
at  two  o'clock.  ...  lie  will  be  gone  out  for  the  day.  Come! 
THE  CAVALIER:  Where? 

THE  WIFE :  In  the  lower  room.  ...  Go  away,  he's  turning 
round ! 

NOTARY:    Come!     Shall    we    be    finished    to-day    or    to- 
morrow ?     Who  is  that  gentleman  who  gave  you  holy  water  ? 
HIS  WIFE :  I  don't  know ;  I  have  never  seen  him  before. 
LACKEYS  (pushing  back  the  crowd) :  Room !  room !  room 
for  her  Grace  the  Duchess ! 

Everyone  goes  out  of  the  church  ;  the  organ  goes  on  playing. 


136 


CESARE    BORGIA 


ROME 


Cardinal  Corneto's  vineyard. — A  room  looking  out  over  the  gardens, 
through  great  windows  decked  vnth  vine-leaves. — Pope  Alexander 
VI.  ;  Don  Cesare  Borgia. 

THE  POPE  :  True !  Although  the  sun  has  sunk,  the  heat 
is  still  overpowering.  Still,  I  never  felt  stronger  than  I  do 
now.  The  grandeur  of  your  schemes,  the  daring  of  your 
resolutions,  give  strength  to  my  will.  All  is  turning  out  as 
we  wish.  We  are  on  the  verge  of  a  decisive  moment,  not 
only  for  you,  Don  Cesare,  but  for  all  Italy.  Our  triumph 
will  be  hers,  for  he  is  a  poor  statesman  whose  success  profits 
none  but  himself,  and  the  arrangement  of  this  world  is  such 
that  when  the  wise  man  sees  his  designs  prosper,  the  dull 
mass  of  petty  men  reap  the  advantage.  That  is  what  justifies 
the  means.  We  are  about  to  strike  an  audacious  blow.  I 
do  not  attempt  to  hide  that,  and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do. 
To-morrow,  when  it  awakes,  Rome  will  learn  the  names  of 
the  cardinals  who  are  to  die  to-night.  I  say  once  more,  it 
is  a  bold  stroke,  but  it  is  necessary.  We  must  strike  terror 
into  our  enemies,  and,  by  a  sweeping  confiscation  of  the 
property  which  the  death  of  the  cardinals  will  leave  open  to  us, 
provide  for  the  pressing  needs  of  your  Tuscan  enterprise. 
This  point  gained,  we  shall  be  able  to  dispense  for  good  with 
the  help  of  France. 

DON  CESARE :  There  will  be  no  one  left  to  cause  us 
anxiety.  The  ship  of  our  hopes,  propelled  by  its  own  motion, 
will  sail  on  even  if  no  wind  drives  it.  For  my  part,  I  defy 
fortune  to  break  the  chain  with  which  I  have  bound  her  arms. 
THE  POPE :  Our  guests  will  soon  arrive.  ...  I  fancy  I  hear 
them.  .  .  .  Ah !  Don  Cesare,  who  of  them  suspects  that  he 
will  never  leave  this  room  alive?  .  .  .  But  I  see  that  I  have 

not  got No,  I  have  not.  .  .  .  Strange !  .  .  .  How  could 

I  have  forgotten  ? 

DON  CESARE:  What  have  you  forgotten? 

THE    POPE:    A  mere  trifle!  .  .  .  But   I  must  not  remain 

without  it.  .  .  .  Call  Caraffa ! 

13; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

DON  CESARE :  Here  he  is  in  the  ante-chamber.  .  .  .  Come 

m,  Caraffa  ;   ihc  Holy  Father  wishes  to  speak  to  you. 

THE  POPE  :  Caraffa,  return  quickly  to  the  Vatican.  .  .  .  Go 

into  my  room.  .  .  .  Look  for  and  brin^*^  nic  that  little  golden 

box  which  contains  .  .  .  you  know  ? 

CARAFFA:  A  consecrated  wafer? 

THE  POPE:  That's  it.     Go! 

("AR.AFFA:  What,  you  haven't  it  on  you? 

THE  POPE  :  Well,  it  was  a  piece  of  carelessness — I  forgot 

it,  just  think ! 

CARAFFA:  How  can  one  overlook  a  thing  that  shelters  one 

from  every  danger  ? 

THE  POPE :  You  are  quite  right.  .  .  .  Go  and  look  for  my 

box;   don't  lose  a  minute,  do  you  hear?     I  shall  not  be  at 

peace  until  I  have  my  box  in  my  pocket. 

CARAFFA  :  I'll  run  !  Exit. 

THE  POPE :  Have  you  taken  precautions,  Don  Cesare,  so 

that  everything  will  be  carried  out  without  a  hitch  ? 

DON   CESARE :    There   are  six  flagons  of   Spanish  wine. 

Your  butler,  Matteo,  put  the  powder  in  it  under  my  eyes, 

and  I  instructed  him  to  serve  the  mixture  only  to  those  whom 

I  shall  point  out  to  him.     Matteo  is  a  man  to  be  trusted. 

THE  POPE :  No  doubt.     In  any  case,  I  repeat,  take  every 

precaution. 

DON  CESARE  (smiling) :  Have  no  fear. 

THE  POPE  :  I  like  your  determined  spirit.  .  .  .  But  how  hot 

it  is !     Ho,  there  ! 

A  SERVANT  :  Most  Holy  Father? 

THE  POPE  :  Tell  Matteo  to  bring  us  some  wine  ;  I  am  dying 

of  thirst. 

DON  CESARE  :  I  too  shall  be  glad  to  drink,  and  after  that 

we'll  have  a  walk  in  the  shade  of  the  garden  while  waiting  for 

our  guests. 

Enter  two  lackeys  bearing  on  a  tray  two  cups  and  a  flagon  of  wine. 
THE  POPE  :  Why  does  not  Matteo  come  himself  when  I 
send  for  him  ? 

138 


CESARE    BORGIA 

FIRST  LACKEY :  Most  Holy  Father,  he  has  gone  back  to 

town  to  get  some  peaches  that  were  required. 

THE  POPE  :    Where  did  yoii  take   this  wine  that  you  are 

giving  us  ? 

FIRST  LACKEY :   From  the  sideboard,  Holy  Father. 

DON  CESARE  (laughing)  :    Hav^e  you  any  qualms  ? 

THE  POPE  :  No !     But  it  would  have  been  better  for  Matteo 

to  remain  here.     Your  health,  Don  Cesare ! 

DON  CESARE  :  I  thank  you,  and  I  drink  yours — may  your 

life  be  long,  happy  and  glorious ! 

They  drink. 


THE   VATICAN. 
The  Pope's  bedchamber. 

CARAFFA  :  To  send  me  on  such  an  errand  in  such  hot 
weather !  Only  Alexander  could  be  capable  of  such  treatment ! 
His  wafer !  His  wafer !  Since  he  was  assured  that,  so  long  as  he 
had  it  on  him,  no  misfortune  could  come  to  him,  he  goes  mad 
if  ever  he  lets  it  out  of  his  sight !  .  .  .  How  ridiculous  men  are  ! 
What  risk  is  he  running  ?  .  .  .  Now,  where  can  that  accursed 
box  be  ?  Probably  on  the  table  near  the  bed.  .  .  .  What  is 
this  ?  .  .  .  Holy  Madonna !  .  .  .  What  do  I  see !  ...  Oh ! 
.  .  .  What  ails  me  ?  .  .  .  Am  I  going  mad  ?  .  .  .  My  hair 
stands  on  end !  .  .  .  My  teeth  are  chattering !  .  .  .  My  God ! 
My  God !  I  am  dymg !  .  .  .  Oh,  that  I  were  far  away !  .  .  .  I 
am  going  mad!  .  .  .  It's  not  possible!  .  .  .  The  Pope  him- 
self! .  .  .  Here!  .  .  .  Oh  Jesus!  .  .  .  Oh,  all  the  saints!  .  .  . 
What  does  it  mean  ?  .  .  .  The  Pope  Alexander  i)'ing  on  his 
bed!  .  .  .  And  I  just  left  him  over  yonder!  .  .  .  He  is  livid! 
his  face  is  all  black !  .  .  .  He  is  dead !  dead !  dead !  I  must 
go  away ! 

Rushes   to   the   door,   slirieking,   opens   it   with   dilticulty   and     falls 
fainting  on  the  landing,  where  the  servants  pick  him  up. 


li'J 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

CARDINAL   CORNETO'S   VINEYARD. 

The  dining-room.  Statues,  pictures,  rich  tapestries  from  Flanders,  great 
carved  sideboards,  mosaic  paving.  A  vast  table  covered  with  gold 
and  silver  plate  ;  on  a  great  dish  in  the  centre  a  roast  peacock,  dressed 
in  its  feathers,  the  tail  spread  out  :  a  pyramid  of  fruits  ;  great  vases 
tilled  with  Howers.— Pope  Alexander,  Don  Cesare  Borgia  ;  the  Cardinals 
Castellar,  Komolino,  Francesco  Soderini,  Copis,  Niccolo  di  Ficsco, 
Sprata,  Corneto,  Iloris,  Casanova,  Valentino  ;  chamberlains,  butlers, 
lackeys,  pontifical  guards  on  duty  at  the  doors. 

THE  POPE  (sitting  down  to  table):  A  fine  evening!  An 
evening  for  merriment,  for  encounters  of  wit.  I  know  no 
pleasure  to  compare  with  that  of  supping  in  good  and 
brilliant  company. 

CARDINAL  CORNETO  :  What  happiness,  what  felicity  to 
celebrate  thus  with  your  Holiness  the  distinguished  favour 
which  you  have  deigned  to  bestow  on  us  all  by  raising  us  to 
the  Cardinalate ! 

THE  POPE :  It  is  a  very  great  pleasure  to  satisfy  one's 
friends  and  justice  at  once. 

CARDINAL  COPIS  (whispering  to  his  neighbour,  Cardinal 
di  Fiesco) :  Do  you  not  find  the  Ploly  Father  strangely  pale  ? 
CARDINAL  DI  FIESCO  (whispering):  I  was  just  going 
to  draw  your  attention  to  the  drawn  features  of  the  Duke  of 
Valentinois. 

CARDINAL  ROMOLINO  (whispering  to  Cardinal  Valen- 
tino) :  If  I  had  been  able  to  cry  off,  I  should  not  have  come. 
I  distrust  this  sort  of  ceremony. 

THE    POPE  :    Cardinal  Romolino,  since  the   affair  of  the 
heretic  Savonarola,  you  have  never  ceased  to  give  us  proofs 
of  your  notable  friendship.     You  see  that  I  have  recognised  it. 
CARDINAL  ROMOLINO  :  Most  Holy  Father,  my  devotion 
to  your  person  has  ever  been  unbounded ! 
CARDINAL  SODERINI  (whispering  to  Cardinal  Castellar) : 
The  Pope  is  indeed  livid  this  evening.     What  has  he  in  store 
for  us  ?     I  would  give  much  not  to  be  here. 
CARDINAL  CASTELLAR  :  So  would  I.  It  is  stifling  in  this 
room. 
DON  CESARE  BORGIA:  I  feel  unwell.  ...  I  don't  know 

140 


CESARE    BORGIA 

what  is  the  matter  with  me.  ...  I  must  go  out.  ...  I  can 

bear  it  no  longer.  .  .  .  My  head  is  reehng.  .  .  ,  What  is  the 

matter  with  you,  Holy  Father? 

THE    POPE :    I    don't   know.  ...  I    think.  ...  Ah,    what 

agony ! 

He  falls  to  the  ground.  The  guests  rise,  dumbfounded.  Don  Cesare 
Borgia  tries  to  walk  a  few  steps,  then  rolls  on  the  floor. 
Confusion. 

THE  POPE  (to  the  butler  who  raises  him) :  Listen  .  .  .  listen. 
...  Go  away,  all  of  you  !  Where  did  they  take  the  wine  that 
was  given  me  a  little  while  ago  ? 

BUTLER:  It  was  one  of  the  bottles  put  aside  by  His  High- 
ness the  Duke. 
THE  POPE  :  In  that  case,  my  son  and  I  ...  are  lost ! 

He  faints. 
DON  MICHELE  (entering  brusquely):  I  hear  that  Plis 
Highness  is  ill  ? 

Goes  to  the  Duke. 
Speak  to  me,  my  lord. 

THE  DUKE :  Come  close  to  me.  .  .  . 

Don  Michele  kneels  beside  him. 
I  am  poisoned.  ...  So  is  the  Pope.  .  .  .  Have  us  carried  to 
the  Vatican.  .  .  .  Call  out  all  my  troops.  .  .  .  Seize  the  Fort 
of  St.  Angelo !  .  .  .  Save  the  treasure  !  ...  If  we  are  attacked, 
defend  us  like  a  tiger !  defend  me ! 

He  loses  consciousness. 
CARDINAL  CORNETO  :  My  lords,  the  Holy  Father  is  very 
ill.  We  must  consider  the  Church  .  .  .  the  public  peace  !  .  .  . 
I  am  returning  to  Rome. 

ALL  THE  CARDINALS  :  Let  us  not  separate !  We'll  go 
with  you — to  your  house.  We  must  decide  what  had  best  be 
done. 

Exeunt  the  Cardinals. 
DON  MICHELE  (to  the  servants  and  soldiers):  Take  the 
first  litters  you  can  find !  Quick !  to  the  Vatican !  .  .  .  The 
first  man  that  stumbles  I'll  strike  dead ! 


141 


lllli    RENAISSANCE 

THE    PUBLIC   SQUARE. 

Great  concourse  of  citizens,  women,  children,  boatmen,  porters,  vagabonds. 
— Shouts,  tumult.      Barricades  are  being  raised  at  the  street  corners. 

CROWD:  He  is  dead!  The  devil  take  his  soul.  .  .  . 
Alexander's  soul !  Hell  is  afraid  of  him !  The  monster ! 
He  wanted  to  poison  all  the  cardinals !  He  has  poisoned 
himself!  He  did  not  forget  his  son!  It's  well  done  I  Are 
they  dead  ?  They  are  dead  !  No  !  Yes  !  They  are  to  be 
buried  this  evening !  The  Valentinois  is  not  dead !  I  tell 
)'Ou  he  is !  Let  us  dig  them  up !  To  the  Tiber !  To  the 
Tiber !  To  the  Tiber  with  their  carcasses  I  No  holy  ground 
for  the  anti-Christ ! 

A  FRESH  TROOP  (runnmg  up) :  To  arms !  The  Borgia's 
men  are  breaking  into  the  houses  !  To  the  barricades !  We'll 
defend  ourselves ! 

Trumpets,  drums,  arquebusades 

A  MAN  (exasperated) :  The  Orsini  are  looting  the  friends  of 
the  Borgia !     A  troop  of  them  has  just  been  massacred ! 
THE  CROWD  :  Bravo  !     Fire,  sack,  blood ! 

Rumbling  of  cannon 
What's  that  ? 

CRIES  FROAl  ANOTHER  END  OF  THE  SQUARE: 
The  Fort  of  St.  Angelo  is  firing  on  the  Orsini !  To  arms ! 
Against  the  Borgia  and  the  Barons !  The  Spaniards  and  the 
Colonna  will  come  in  and  make  havoc  everywhere  I 
A  VOICE  :  Here  are  the  French  !  They  are  giving  no  quarter  I 
CROWD  :  To  the  barricades  !  Defend  yourselves !  To  the 
river  with  the  Pope  ! 

A  company  of  soldiers  charges  the  populace 

CROWD:  Save  yourselves!     The  devil  take  the  hindmost! 

Firing  from  both  sides,  many  killed  and  wounded  ;  the  populace  flies, 
forms  up  again  in  the  street  and  shoots  again;  a  mel6e.  The 
cannon  continues  to  roar. 


I4J 


CESARE    BORGIA 


AN   ORSINI   PALACE. 


Fabio  Orsini,  the  Count  de  Petigliano,  Bartolommeo  Alviane,  other  Orsini, 
all  armed. 

FABIO :   Michele  has  just  set  fire  to  our  house  on  Monte 

Giordano. 

PETIGLIANO :  Never  mind  that,  my  brothers  and  cousins ! 

His   master    will   pay   for    all    the    damage    together.     Two 

hundred  cuirassiers,  a  thousand  arbalestiers,  cross-bowmen  and 

pikesmen,  these  are  our  forces.     Let  us  act  without  delay. 

Prospero  Colonna  has  come  in  with  Aragonese  troops.     True, 

he  wants  to  kill  the  Valentinois,  but  while  on  the  way,  he'll 

attack  us  also,  have  no  doubt.     We  have  against  us  the  Borgia, 

the  Colonna,  the  cardinals,  the  populace,  the  Spaniards.  .  ,  . 

Let  us  steal  a  march  on  our  enemies ! 

ALVIANE :  The  Valentinois  offers  to  restore  our  towns  if 

we  give  him  quarter  for  a  few  days.     I  am  inclined  to  accept, 

in  spite  of  the  burning  of  our  house,  which  we  will  avenge 

later  on. 

AN  ORSINI:   No!     Let  us  crush  the  Borgia  and  come  to 

terms  with  the  rest! 

FABIO :   With   the   Colonna,   it's  impossible,   and  with   the 

populace,  never !     No  union  with  the  mob ! 

PETIGLIANO:  Let  us  treat  with  the  Borgia.     He  is  lost! 

A  few  days'  respite  will  not  save  him.     All  the  Romagna  has 

risen  as  it  is.     If  united  with  him,  we  shall  make  the  Cardinals 

tremble — that  is  the  important  point  for  the  moment.     Is  that 

agreed? 

THE  ORSINI:  It  is  agreed! 

PETIGLIANO:  To  arms,  then!     Let  us  go  down  into  the 

streets ! 

Puts  on  his  casque  ;  all  go  out,  with  clinking  of  armour  and  spurs. 


o  143 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


CARDINAL   COKNETU'S    HOUSE. 


A  large  paintcil  chamber. — Gathering  of  the  Cardinals  ;  officers  ot  all  kinds, 
secretaries,  monks. 

CARDINAL  COPIS:  I  am  not  yet  myself  again!  Those 
monsters  designcil  to  poison  us,  and  their  deed  recoiled  on 
themselves. 

CARDINAL  DI  FIESCO:  Wc  are  assured  that  Cesare  is 
not  dead.  He  had  himself  kept  for  an  hour  in  iced  water, 
where  his  bitter  agonies  caused  him  terrible  convulsions.  They 
say  also  that  the  physicians  opened  the  entrails  of  two  live 
mules  and  plunged  him  right  into  that  horrible  tomb,  hoping 
tiiat  he  would  reco\er  his  strength. 

CARDINAL  CAS  TELLAR :  I  do  not  think  that  Michele 
would  show  so  much  violence  if  he  did  not  reckon  on  his 
master's  recovery. 

CARDINAL  CORNETO:  Still,  Alexander  is  dead,  right 
enough !  It's  horrible !  Some  porters  put  him  in  his  coffin ! 
They  kicked  his  body  to  pieces ;  it  was  swollen  by  the 
poison  and  falling  into  shreds.  The  soldiers  mocked  at  the 
priests  who  wished  to  pray.  It  is  monstrous ! 
CARDINAL  SODERINI :  My  lords,  my  lords,  we  are  not 
here  to  argue,  but  rather  to  save  this  ill-starred  city.  All  the 
demons  who  possessed  Alexander  seem  to  have  escaped  from 
his  corpse  only  to  assail  us  the  more  easily.  Murder,  pillage, 
arson,  crimes,  outrages,  nothing  is  wanting !  And  we  who,  at 
this  moment,  represent  the  sole  lawful  authority,  do  we  come 
to  no  decision  ?  Are  we  to  spend  our  time  in  talking, 
shivering  and  weeping  ?  Come,  what  are  your  orders  !  I  call 
on  you  to  show  your  intelligence,  harden  your  hearts !  Let  a 
manly  resolution  spring  from  your  heads  like  an  armed 
Minerva !  Give  us  an  aegis  to  cover  the  city  and  the  world ! 
CARDINAL  VALENTINO  :  We  must  raise  troops  at  once 
and  oppose  them  to  the  factions ! 

CARDINAL  CASANOVA :  I  second  that  proposal,  and  if 
the  Sacred  College  will  depute  the  task  to  me,  I  undertake  to 

144 


CESARE    BORGIA 

obtain  a  prompt  result.     There  are  many  captains  present  in 

Rome  who  will  accept  my  terms. 

ALL  :    Well  spoken !     Act  accordingly ! 

CARDINAL  CASANOVA :  I  hasten  to  perform  my  mission. 

Count  upon  my  zeal ! 

Exit  with  his  followers. 

CARDINAL  ROMOLINO:  Let  us  mimediately  summon 
the  ambassadors.  If  not,  the  Colonna  will  come  to  an  agree- 
ment with  Spain,  and  the  Orsini  with  France  ;  the  Venetians 
will  begin  intriguing  in  the  Romagna,  and  the  Florentines  will 
prepare  unsurmountable  difficulties  with  the  populace.  In 
calling  at  once  upon  the  Christian  princes  to  uphold  our 
authority — the  only  lawful  one,  for  we  are  the  future  Conclave 
— we  render  them  incapable  of  doing  us  harm.  Besides,  the 
Emperor  will  be  on  our  side. 

Universal  assent. 
CARDINAL  VALENTINO  :  In  the  hurry  of  events,  I  fore- 
saw the  opinion  of  our  venerable  brother,  and  I  made  the 
ambassadors  promise  to  present  themselves  here.  I  am  told 
that  they  are  awaiting  your  good  pleasure. 
ALL  :  Let  them  come  in  !     Let  them  come  in  ! 

Enter  the  ambassadors  of  France,  Spain,  the  Empire,  Venice,  Florence, 
Milan,  the  Swiss  Leagues. — Great  tinimlt  under  the  windows. — 
Arquebusades  continue.  The  cannon  oi  the  Vatican  and  of  Fort 
St.  Angelo  are  heard. 

CARDINAL  CORNETO  :  Welcome,  my  Lords  Ambassadors. 

The  Church  of  Christ  has  need  of  its  children.     We  summon 

you  in  order  to  claim  the  support  due  from  the    Christian 

princes  to  their  Holy  Mother.     We  are  at  a  crisis.     What  is 

your  reply? 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR  :  My  Lords  Cardinals,  before  all, 

my  duty  compels  me  to  enter  a  solemn  protest  against   an 

outrage. 

CARDINALS:  An  outrage?    On  our  part? 

SPANISH  AMBASSADOR  :  I  will  see  the  truth  vindicated. 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:    If  I  were   here  in  a  private 

capacity,  Your  Grace  would  not  use  such  n  phrase  twice      But 

O    2  ,45 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

my  master's  honour  takes  precedence  of  mine.     Listen  to  what 
has  just  happened  ;  I  cannot  disguise  my  indignation. 
CARDINAL  CORN  El  O  :  My  Lord  Ambassador,  the  city  is 
burning,  sedition  is  rife  ;  could  we  not  Hsten  to  your  complaints 
at  a  more  seasonable  moment  ? 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:  If  I  am  not  given  a  hearing,  I 
will  go.  I  arrived  at  the  door  of  this  palate  before  the  Lord 
Ambassador  of  Spain.  His  noblemen  threw  themselves  upon 
mine,  and  while  they  were  drawing  swords,  the  Ambassador 
passed  in  front  of  me  and  came  in  first.  That  is  my  plaint ! 
Well,  my  Lords,  has  a  Prince  of  Aragon  the  right  to  precede 
the  Most  Christian  King?  When  there  is  a  question  of 
approaching  you,  shall  the  eldest  son  of  the  Church  come  after 
the  others  ?     I  demand  at  once  a  full  reparation. 

Enter  the  Cardinals  Giuliano  della  Rovere  and  Piccolomini. 
THE  EMPEROR'S  AMBASSADOR:  It  is  at  any  rate 
strange  that,  when  I  am  hete,  other  crowns  should  claim 
precedence. 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR  (heatedly) :  How  do  you  mean, 
sir  ? 

SPANISH  AMBASSADOR  (putting  his  hand  to  his  sword)  : 
I  know  but  one  way  of  speaking  and  one  of  replying. 
CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE:  So,  gentlemen,  this  is 
what  you  have  to  say  to  the  Sacred  College  ?  At  the  moment 
when  tlie  Holy  City  is  becoming  the  prey  of  the  riotous  ;  when 
from  this  spot  you  hear  the  firing  of  cannon,  arquebusades, 
blasphemies,  and  when  through  these  windows,  yes,  through 
these  windows  the  fires  of  the  incendiaries  appear  before  our 
outraged  eyes — instead  of  coming  to  our  aid,  you  display  to 
us  the  unhappy  rivalries  caused  by  your  vanity!  By  the 
wounds  and  the  death  of  Jesus  my  Saviour,  you  are  making 
mock  of  us,  my  Lord  Ambassador  of  France. 
FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:  My  Lord  Giuhano  della 
Rovere,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  use  such  a  tone,  and  there  is  no 
red  hat  that  shall  cheat  me  of  an  insolent  adversary ! 
CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE  (walking  straight  towards 

146 


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to  fact  page  146 


CESARE    BORGIA 

him) :  Read  this  letter,  read  this  order  and  lower  your  fore- 
head !  Lower  it,  sir,  lower  it,  lower  still — and  obey !  Our 
venerable  brother,  the  Cardinal  d'Amboise,  the  revered 
minister  of  the  King,  your  master,  writes  you  this!  You 
recognise  the  sign  and  seal  ?  Well,  read !  He  orders  you  to 
put  French  troops  at  the  Conclave's  disposal,  and  the  Conclave 
orders  you  to  make  them  quit  the  town. 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR  :  My  Lord  Cardmal,  it  is  no  less 
true  that.  .  .  . 

CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE  (whispering  to  him) :  You 
shall  have  complete  reparation  at  a  more  opportune  moment. 
FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:    Every  difficulty  is  smoothed 
over.     Our  French  companies  will  leave  the  city,  as  you  will 
have  it  so.     I  will  add,  however,  that  the  Duke  of  Valentinois 
offers  to  uphold  your  authority. 
SEVERAL  CARDINALS  :  Then  he  is  not  dead? 
CARDINAL   PICCOLOMINI:    He  is   very  ill,  but  to  all 
appearances  he  is  master  of  his  body  as  he  has  always  been 
master  of  others'  will.     I  am  not  in  favour  of  accepting  his 
proposals. 

CARDINAL  COPIS :  Take  care !  he  has  become  reconciled 
with  the  Orsini.  We  must  not  show  a  hostile  front  to  that 
powerful  family,  which  is  asking  if  it  may  assist  us. 
FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:  I  should  advise  you  not  to 
quarrel  with  the  Duke  of  Valentinois.  He  is  a  man  of  subtle 
intellect ;  he  holds  the  strongest  positions ;  his  artillery  is 
numerous,  and  his  coffers  are  full  to  overflowing  with  money. 
SPANISH  AMBASSADOR  :  If  an  arrangement  is  come  to 
with  the  Duke  of  Valentinois,  I  demand,  in  the  name  of  the 
Catholic  King,  that  our  troops  and  our  allies  be  also  admitted, 
among  others,  Don  Prospero  Colonna  and  all  the  men  of  his 
house. 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR :  That  will  be  opening  the  door 
to  anarchy ! 

SPANISH  AMBASSADOR:  Anarchy,  it  seems  to  me,  is 
even  better  represented  by  you  l]i;in  by  us. 

14; 


THK     RENAISSANCE 

CARDINAL.  DELLA  ROVERE  :  This  is  the  decision  of  the 

Sacred  College.     The  Conclave  is  to  meet  as  soon  as  possible 

in  order  to  fill  the  vacancy  to  the  throne.     Never  v^'as  there 

more  reason  to  wish  for  the  salutary  presence  of  a  Sovereign 

Pontiff  than  at  this  terrible  crisis,  when  bodies  and  souls  arc 

equally  in  peril !     It  is  not  proper  that  so  august  an  assembly 

should  be  held  arnid  the  clash  of  arms.     No,  gentlemen,  no! 

It  is  not  right,  it  shall  not  be !     French,  Aragonese,  Colonna, 

Orsini,  all  who  have  sword  in  hand  shall  go :  the  Duke  of 

\'alentinois  shall  go  like  the  rest.     None  but  Papal  troops 

shall  remain  here ! 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR:  My  Lord  Cardinal,  I  can  hardly 

believe    that    the    King,    my   master,    will   approve   of   such 

measures. 

CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE  :  My  heart  is  still  uplifted 

by  the  noble  sentiments  just  expressed  to  me  by  our  venerable 

brother  the  Cardinal  d'Amboise.     "  Cardinal  della  Rovere," 

said  this  truly  great  man  to  me,  "I  should  be  ashamed  if  I, 

a  prince  of  the  Roman  Church,  gave  the  slightest  sign  of 

intending  to  force  the  hand  of  the  Conclave  ;   the  Conclave 

must  be  free  in  its  choice.     The  army  of  the  Most  Christian 

King  will  depart  from  the  walls  of  Rome."     Those  were  the 

very  words  of  this  admirable  minister.     You  will  show  him 

your  recognition,  my  Lords,  of  this  magnanimity,  and  I  doubt 

not  that  the  Holy  Ghost  will  dictate  to  you  what  you  must 

do  in  order  to  reward  all  his  virtues. 

The  French  and  Venetian  ambassadors  look  at  each  other  in  amaze- 
ment. 

CARDINALS:  There's  no  doubt  this  is  a  masterstroke! 

CARDINAL   CASANOVA  (aside  to   Cardinal   Romolino): 

What  a  cunning  move  is  this  of  Giuliano's !    Thus  we  are  rid 

of  the  French  Pope  I 

CARDINAL   ROMOLINO    (aside)-.    I    was   afraid   before 

that  we  could  not  avoid  him.     Are  you  minded  to  vote  for 

Giuliano  ? 

148 


CESARE    BORGIA 

CARDINAL  CASANOVA:  Never!     He  is  too  crafty  and 
too  hard.     What  we  need  is  an  insignificant  creature. 
CARDINAL  ROMOLINO :  What  say  you  to  old  Piccolo- 
mini? 

CARDINAL  CASANOVA :  Not  a  bad  notion.  We  will  talk 
it  over  afterwards.  Let  us  listen  to  what  they  are  saying. 
CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE :  A  secretary  of  the  Briefs 
is  about  to  go  to  the  Duke  of  Valentinois  to  induce  him  to 
retire  ;  and  you,  my  Lord  Ambassador  of  Spain,  what  do  you 
decide  ? 

SPANISH  AMBASSADOR:  Seeing  that  the  King,  my 
master,  yields  to  none  in  respect  for  the  Conclave,  so  soon  as 
the  French  leave  the  city  our  troops  and  our  allies  will  like- 
wise depart. 

CARDINAL  DELLA  ROVERE :  Pray  thank  the  King  on 
our  behalf.  (Aside  to  the  French  Ambassador.)  Write  at 
once  to  His  Holiness.  ...  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean  the 
Most  Reverend  Cardinal  d'Amboise  .  .  .  that,  thanks  to  his 
well-advised  moderation,  his  election  to  the  Papal  Throne  is 
a  foregone  conclusion. 

FRENCH  AMBASSADOR  :  I  do  not  know  what  to  ifiake  of 
all  this. 


M9 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


THE   VATICAN. 


A  room  with  closed  curtains. — Don  Ccsare  Borgia  lying  down,  thin  and 
worn  ;  Don  Rlichclc. 

DON  CESARE :  Come  nearer  ...  I  cannot  speak  loud  .  .  . 

W'liat  have  )'ou  done  ? 

DON  MICIIELE:  W'e  remain  masters,  completely  masters 

of  the  quarter.     Your  men  are  firm  and  loyal.     I  compromised 

them  by  the  looting  of  some  houses.     They  know  that  if  they 

disband  they  will  be  wiped  out. 

DON  CESARE :  Hell,  what  pain  I  am  in ! 

DON  MICHELE  :  The  Cardinals  send  you  word  to  leave 

the  city  within  three  days.     The  French  are  gone. 

DON  CESARE :,  Then  the  Cardinal  d'Amboise  gives  up  the 

idea  of  being  Pope  ? 

DON  MICHELE :  Giuliano  della  Rovere  has  persuaded  him 

that  he  would  be  Pope  with  greater  glory  by  leaving  the 

Conclave  full  liberty. 

DON  CESARE  :  I  had  forgotten  that  among  the  French  the 

show  of  glory  eclipses  the  reality. 

DON  MICHELE:  You  will  see— Giuliano  will  get  himself 

elected. 

DON   CESARE :   I   doubt  it.     They  are  too  afraid  of   his 

talents  and  of  his  ferocity.     I  have  no  means  of  maintaining 

myself  here.     Let  us  yield  with  a  good  grace,  while  we  can 

still  negotiate.     We  will  ask  the  Cardinals  to  let  me  go  off  with 

my   artillery,  my  troops,   my   money-chests,   and   under   the 

guarantee  that  I  shall  not  be  attacked. 

DON  MICHELE :  A  poor  outlook ! 

DON  CESARE  :  If  I  were  up,  I  should  act  differently.     At 

this  moment,  my  only  aim  is  to  gain  time. 

DON  MICHELE  :  Then  you  will  not  lose  courage? 

DON  CESARE  BORGIA :  So  long  as  I  breathe,  the  world  is 

mine !     I  have  my  foot  on  its  neck ! 

150 


CESARE    BORGIA 

FLORENCE. 

The  convent  and  hospital  de  Tintori,  at  Sant'  Onofrio. — A  great  workshop  ; 
marbles,  some  sketched  out,  others  finished,  others  still  unworked  in 
the  rough  ;  benches,  stools. — Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti,  busUy 
working  at  a  vast  cartoon. — Knocking  at  the  door. — Michael  Angelo 
goes  to  look  through  a  wicket,  makes  the  key  turn  in  the  lock  and 
opens. 

MICHx\EL  ANGELO :  As  it  is  you,  come  in. 
FRANCESCO  GRANACCI :  I  have  been  at  the  Palazzo  ; 
your  gloty  is  complete. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (applying  himself  again  to  his  work) : 
Tell  me  how  things  are  going. 

He  kisses  him. 
GR.A.NACCI :  Your  glory  is  at  its  height,  I  tell  you !  All  the 
masters  who  are  at  Florence  are  crowding  around  your  work 
in  amazement.  Ah,  the  cartoon  of  the  War  of  Pisa  is  an 
immortal  work — no  one  disputes  it !  People  never  weary  of 
examining  this  miracle,  and  those  who  are  copying  it  discover 
in  it  a  thousand  beauties  which  ordinary  admirers  will  never 
suspect. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  I  did  my  best. 
GRANACCI:   But  you'll  do  )'et  greater  things!  ...  It  is 
hardly  believable,  but  I  believe  it. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  shall  do  what  the  holy  goodness  of 
my  Creator  has  given  me  the  power  to  do.  As  I  have  worked 
up  to  this  day,  so  I  shall  go  on.  If  the  cartoon  has  gained  the 
approval  it  deserves,  I  rejoice  from  the  depths  of  my  soul ; 
but  if  I  were  never  to  execute  anything  better,  I  would  gladly 
die,  for  I  have  much  more  to  say!  Who  are  the  masters 
whom  you  saw  before  my  drawing,  and  who  praised  it? 
GRANACCI  :  First  came  da  Vinci  with  all  his  pupils.  He 
went  into  endless  raptures. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  He  is  the  most  insincere  man  I  know, 
and  in  the  matter  of  loquacious  politeness  he  has  nothing  to 
learn.  All  his  words  are  honey-sweet  .  .  .  like  his  painting. 
Messer  Lionardo  has  a  soul  that  is  subtle,  but  not  frank  or 

151 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

strong.  .  .  .  He  detests  me,    and   I   return  the  compliment. 
Nevertheless,  he  is  a  groat  painter.     Who  came  next? 
GRANACCI :  Ridolfo  Ghirlandaio. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Ah,  he  is  a  friend!  Heaven  bless 
him,  he's  a  worthy  son  of  his  father!  I  have  to  thank 
Domenico  for  many  kind  services.  May  heaven  forsake  me 
if  ever  1  forget  that ! 

GRANACCI  :  Then  I  saw  in  the  crowd  Baccio  Bandinelli, 
le  Beruguetta,  Andrea  del  Sarto.  .  .  . 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (raising  his  head)  :  What  did  Andrea 
say? 

GRANACCI  :  Oh,  Andrea  ...  as  he  heard  some  ignora- 
muses declare  that  a  foreshortening  was  too  stiff  or  a  nose 
too  long,  he  looked  at  them  coldly,  took  a  stool,  sat  down, 
and,  putting  a  cartoon  before  him,  began  to  copy. 

Michael  Angelo  bites  his  lip,  crosses  himself,  and  goes  on  working. 
GRANACCI  :  Well,  that  is  what  Sanzio  did  also. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :    That  Raphael  .  .  .  that  boy  .  .  . 
he  is  not  a  child  of  God !     I  am  not  very  fond  of  him,  Granacci. 
.  .  .  Still,  I  should  not  care  to  say  ...  in  truth,  what  he  is 
driving  at ;  I  do  not  wish  ....  never  mind !     I  will  not  speak 

evil  of  him! 

Returns  to  his  work. 

GRANACCI  :  For  my  part,  I  shall  begin  from  to-morrow  to 

follow  the  example  of  Andrea  del  Sarto,  and  of  him  whom 

you  call  the  boy.     I  sliall  not  be  satisfied  until  I  have  finished 

a  complete  copy  of  the  masterpiece. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  must  also  invent  something  on 

your  own  account. 

GRANACCI :   Oh,  I — as  in  the  past,  1  shall  do  decorations 

for  festivals ;  that  is  my  lot ;    I  have  no  genius,  I  know  quite 

well.     I  love  Beauty — that  is  all — and  I  am  better  fitted  to  be 

a  lover  than  a  painter. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (heatedly):   They  are  all  the  same! 

What  cringing  dogs  men  are !     If  you  must  be  a  slave  at  all 

costs,  find  at  least  a  worthier  form  of  slavery ;  but  when  some 

152 


CESARE    BORGIA 

wretched  woman  has  lied  to  you,  betrayed  you,  sold  you  and 
finally  thrown  you  into  a  corner,  with  your  heart  bleeding.  .  .  . 
By  heaven !     You  make  me  feel  ashamed ! 
GRANACCI :  It  would  only  need  love's  kisses  to  make  all  that 
worth  while  a  second  time. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  If  you  love  me,  no  more  of  such  talk, 
you  know  I  cannot  endure  it ! 

GRANACCI :  But,  seriously,  what  would  you  have  me  try  my 
hand  on  ?  I  stand  rooted  before  your  pictures — before  your 
Pieta,  for  instance !  Why,  I  remain  dumbfounded  ;  you  have 
thoughts  that  I  shall  never  have  ;  you  see  clearly,  you  gaze  at 
what  for  me  will  be  eternally  veiled  ;  you  imagine  what  I  could 
never  dream  of,  and  I  feel  myself  so  puny,  so  weak,  so  power- 
less by  the  side  of  all  that  you  can  conceive  and  produce,  that 
discouragement  wins  the  day,  and  I  no  longer  have  the  heart 
to  attempt  anything. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :   Are  you  jealous  of  me  ? 
GRANACCI  •  Not  in  the  least. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  There  lies  the  trouble.  What !  you,  an 
artist,  you  stand  before  another's  work  and  admire  it,  and  are 
not  jealous  ?  You  do  not  beat  your  breast  with  rage,  you  do 
not  curse  the  day  when  this  enemy  discovered  and  appro- 
priated what  is  yours  ?  You  are  an  artist,  and  so  lukewarm  a 
devotee  of  the  Muse  that  you  see  her  bestow  her  favours  on 
someone  else  without  going  mad  with  rage  and  indignation  ? 
What  honey,  what  milk,  what  insipid  sugared  cordial  runs 
in  your  veins  instead  of  blood  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  it  is 
by  frenzy,  rage,  indignation,  violence  that  men  climb  up  to 
heaven  ?  You  may  well  smile !  I  do  not  tell  you  to  run  after 
me  with  a  stiletto  in  your  hand,  but  I  could  fmd  it  possible  for 
you  to  loathe  me,  and  I  should  love  you  all  the  more  for  it. 
Stiffen  yourself,  become  a  man  ;  I  will  teach  }ou  all  I  know, 
I  will  show  you  what  I  can.  Come,  Granacci,  form  for  yourself 
some    fiery    resolve!      Sit    down    there!      Work!      Nothing 

153 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

but  work  and  the  intoxication  of  creating  can  give  life  savour. 
In  itself,  life  is  worth  nothing! 

GRANACCI  :  I  will  do  what  you  wish,  save  that  I  will  not  be 
jealous  of  you.  I  should  be  a  laughing-stock  even  to  myself. 
Have  you  heard  the  news  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  take  no  interest  in  news. 
GRANACCI :  A  new  Pope  has  been  elected,  the  Piccolomini. 
His  name  now  is  Pius  III. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Since  he  is  Pope,  he  must  be 
respected. 

GRANACCI :  They  say  that  Cesare  Borgia.  .  .  . 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  care  nothing  for  the  Borgia,  or  the 
Sforza,  or  anyone.  I  am  an  artist,  and  can  see  in  the  world 
nothing  but  my  work,  and  above  all,  the  Holy  Faith.  I  for- 
bear to  enquire  why  the  Lord  God  (blessed  be  His  name !)  has 
put  into  the  world  so  many  princes,  captains,  and  podestas  who 
devour  one  another.  They  should  have  no  other  occupation 
than  to  perform  virtuous  acts,  to  punish  vice  and  to  protect 
the  arts.  What  they  do  is  the  very  reverse.  .  .  .  God  ought 
to  suppress  them.  It  is  true,  however,  that  we  should  then 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  populace,  the  foulest  beast  that  ever 
crawled  the  ground.  Have  you  ever  knowni  a  man  of  no  birth 
to  become  a  good  artist  ? 
GRANACCI :  I  never  considered  the  point. 
MICPIAEL  ANGELO  :  If  my  family  were  not  sprung  from 
the  Counts  of  Canossa,  I  should  not  be  what  I  am.  I  wish 
these  upstarts  could  be  forbidden,  on  pain  of  death,  ever  to 
dare  to  touch  a  chisel  or  a  chalk.  Believe  me,  the  world  is 
horrible.  The  mere  thought  of  its  baseness  is  galling  beyond 
endurance.  .  .  .  The  day  is  waning ;  the  light  grows  to6 
dim  for  work.  Let  us  walk  by  the  riverside,  and  then  we 
will  spend  the  evening  in  reading  Dante. 


154 


CESARE    BORGIA 


NAPLES. 


The  Viceroy's  Palace. — A  room  richly  decorated  with  paintings  and 
gildings. — Before  a  table,  covered  with  gold-tasselled  red  velvet, 
and  seated  in  armchairs  of  brocade  with  carved  backs,  the  Viceroy 
Don  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova  and  Don  Cesare  Borgia,  facing  each  other. 
They  shake  hands. 

DON  CESARE  :  I  place  every  confidence  in  your  Excellency. 
DON  GONSALVO :  It  is  not  misplaced. 
DON  CESARE  :  You  are  a  great  captain,  the  glory  of  this 
age.  The  honour  of  your  name  is  a  warranty  for  my  safety. 
DON  GONSALVO  :  You  do  me  justice. 
DON  CESARE  :  Of  late  I  have  seen  nothing  but  flagrant 
infamy.  1  had  consented  to  give  up  to  the  Cardinals  of 
the  Conclave  the  Vatican  and  Fort  St.  Angelo,  the  keys  to 
my  mastery  of  Rome,  and  I  thereby  showed  so  striking  a 
moderation  as  cannot  be  impugned  even  by  my  enemies.  Yes, 
Don  Gonsalvo,  if  I  have  left  Rome,  it  was  of  my  own  free  will. 
After  this  generous  act,  the  promises  made  to  me  were  not 
kept.  Besides,  the  Cardinal  d'Amboise  has  behaved  like  a 
fool  in  removing  his  army  before  the  fine  phrases  of  Giuliano 
della  Rovere.  The  della  Rovere  did  not  fail  to  secure  the 
election  of  Piccolomini,  who  only  lived  twenty-two  days  longer, 
and  then  he  took  the  tiara  himself.  In  this  ambitious,  violent, 
false,  perfidious  and  rapacious  Julius  II.  }Ou  and  I  have  a 
most  implacable  foe.  Through  his  intrigues,  my  subjects  in 
the  Romagna  have  risen  in  revolt.  Moreover,  the  Venetians 
have  taken  my  greatest  stronghold;  the  fortune  of  war  has 
deserted  me  ;  I  have  been  imprisoned  and  set  at  liberty.  The 
French  behaved  disgracefully  towards  me.  I  have  served 
them  too  long  and  too  well.  To-day  I  am  yours,  I  work  for 
you  and  the  King,  your  master,  and  you  may  reckon  on  me  as 
I  reckon  on  you.     Have  I  the  right? 

DON   GONSALVO:   I  implore  your  Highness  to  be  con- 
vinced of  that.     Besides,  you  have  my  word,  Don  Cesare. 
DON    CESARE :    This    assurance    is    most    welcome    and 
consoles  me  for  all   my   misadventures.     Once   more,   I  ask 

155 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

for  nothing  but  to  serve  you  well,  and  since  you  entrust  me 

with  troops  to  act  in  Tuscany  on  behalf  of  the  Medici,  you 

must  not  doubt  that  I  am  applying  myself  to  the  task  with 

all  my  might,  taking  account  henceforth  of  no  interests  but 

those  of  the  Catholic  King. 

DON  GONSALVO  :  I  am  extremely  indebted  to  you  for 

)'Our  trouble. 

DON  CESARE  :  My  intention  is  to  embark  this  very  day  on 

His  Majesty's  galleys,  which  are  in  the  harbour,  and  I  take  my 

leave  of  you. 

DON  GONSALVO  :  God  be  with  you,  your  Highness,  and 

may  His  Almighty  Power  guide  you ! 

DON  CESARE :  I  again  thank  your  Excellency  for  having 

been  a  friend  to  me  in  my  hour  of  tribulation. 

They  rise, 

I  beg  you,  Don  Gonsalvo,  to  esteem  me  as  your  most  devoted 

servant. 

DON  GONSALVO  (embracing  him):  It  is  an  honour  that 

touches  me  deeply. 

DON  CESiVRE:  May  Heaven  preserve  your  Excellency! 


The  ante-chamber  of  the  Viceroy's  room.  At  the  moment  when  Don 
Cesare  comes  out  from  Don  Gonsalvo's  room,  the  courtiers,  officers 
and  apparitors  rise  and  take  off  their  hats. 

DON  NUNEZ  CAMPEIO  (Captain  of  the  Viceroy's  body- 
guard, to  Don  Cesare) :  Monsignor,  I  arrest  you  in  His 
Majesty's  name ! 

DON  CESARE  (recoiling  a  few  steps):  What  means  this? 
...  I  am  the  Viceroy's  friend !     I  have  his  word ! 
DON  NUNEZ  CAMPEIO:  Here  is  his  order.     Read! 
DON    CESARE    (examining   the    parchment) :    It    is   black 
treachery ! 

DON  NUNEZ  CAMPEIO  :  You  should  be  a  good  judge  of 
that.     Your  sword ! 

156 


CESARE    BORGIA 

DON  CESARE  (casting  his  eyes  round  and  seeing  nothing 

but  Spaniards) :  Never  did  man  commit  such  an  outrage !  .  .  . 

DON    NUNEZ    CAMPEIO:    Except— you,    at    Sinigagha. 

Your  sword,  I   sa}',  your  Highness !   or  will   it  have  to   be 

taken  from  you  ? 

Don  Cesare  throws  his  sword  violently  to  the  ground  ;  it  is  picked  up. 
The  Duke  is  led  away  by  soldiers. 

A  COURTIER  (to  a  person  dressed  in  black  writing  busily 
on  his  knees) :  What  are  you  doing  there,  Signor  Sannazaro  ? 
Can  this  scene  have  put  you  in  a  poetic  vein  ? 
SANNAZARO  :   In  considering  this  great  criminal,   I   sud- 
denly recalled  his  motto :  Aut  Ccssar  aiit  nihil,  and  I  have 
composed  this  distich. 
THE  COURTIERS:  Show  it  us! 
SANNAZARO  (reading) : 

Omnia  vincebas,  sperabas  omnia,  Caesar  ; 
Omnia  deficiunt,  incipis  esse  nihil.* 

THE  COURTIERS  :  Charming !     What  wit ! 


Cesare,  to  gain  all,  conquer  all  you  thought  : 

Now  all  is  failing  :    you  are  henceforth  naught." — ^Tr. 


.•)/ 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ROME. 

The  Palazzo  Borgia. — Doua  Maria  Ilcnriqucz,  widow  of  Giovanni  Borgia, 
Duke  of  Gandia  ;  her  daughter  Dona  Isabella  Borgia  ;  a  Dominican. 

DOMINICAN  :  Yes,  your  Grace,  and  at  once  the  Viceroy, 
Don  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  put  him  on  board  His  Majesty's 
galleys  and  sent  him  to  Spain,  where  we  are  assured  that,  if  he 
is  not  put  to  death,  he  will  be  condemned  to  a  lifelong 
imprisonment. 

Dl'CIIESS:  May  God  pardon  him  ,  .  .  pardon  his  crimes! 
There  are  few  in  the  unhappy  nature  of  man  with  which  he 
is  not  soiled.  ...  1  have  never  known  in  him  either  a  hesita- 
tion about  wrongdoing  or  a  temptation  to  repent.  He  has 
never,  until  this  hour,  grasped  the  sole  virtue  of  Hell — the 
certainty  that  God  will  win  the  day.  Alas !  Father  I  ask 
you  .  .  .  before  entering  the  cloister,  you  knew  something 
of  life.  .  .  .  It  is  no  plebeian  blood  that  runs  in  your  veins.  .  .  . 
I  ask  you.  .  .  .  What  is  a  family  like  ours  doing  in  the  world  ? 
It  soils  it !  Our  house  issued  from  crime,  has  been  carried  on 
by  crime,  wallowed  in  crime,  borne  away  by  the  most  furious, 
the  frothiest,  the  muddiest  waves  of  crime,  and  behold  it  now 
cast  down !  Where  is  our  insolent  prosperity  ?  Nowhere ! 
All  in  ruin !  No  more  clarions,  no  more  triumphs,  no  more 
curses.  .  .  .  We  have  become  a  sight  for  tlie  mob  ;  is  our 
example  an  edifying  one  ? 

DOMINICAN  :  Yes,  Madam,  although  otherwise  than  you 
imagine. 

DONA  ISABELLA  BORGIA:  You,  Madam,  and  you, 
Father,  let  me  explain  my  feelings  to  you.  True,  I  am  but 
sixteen,  and  I  ought  to  listen  to  you  without  saying  a  word,  in 
suitable  humility ;  but  I  must  submit  to  you  what  I  feel 
to-day,  when  we  have  begun  to  approach  the  most  dire  possi- 
bilities. My  uncle,  Don  Cesare,  murdered  my  father.  .  .  . 
What  else  he  did  I  do  not  clearly  know,  and  I  have  no  wish 
to  learn.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  behold  under  a  mournful 
shadow  a  red  and  funereal  halo  which  seems  to  emanate  from 
our  name.     I  know  not  how,  and  yet  I  wish  to  explain  to  you 

158 


CESARE    BORGIA 

the  feeling  inspired  in  me  by  this  sight.  .  .  .  This  sight,  I  tell 
you  and  fully  believe  it,  the  impression  I  get  from  this  sight, 
my  mother's  ceaseless  tears,  all  these  trouble  me  less  perhaps 
than  it  should.  My  reason  urges  me  to  be  profoundly 
sad,  but  I  am  not.  The  only  effect  upon  me  of  these  miseries 
is  to  detach  me  completely,  though  without  hatred  or  scorn 
or  irritation,  from  this  world,  where  such  things  arc  done  and 
where  the  aspect  of  punishment  and  the  continual  experience 
of  victories  gained  by  evil  cannot  arrest  that  evil  and  make  it 
reflect  I  do  not  hate  the  world !  It  does  not  frighten  me ; 
it  is  nothing  to  me !  I  do  not  touch  it  at  any  point ;  I  do  not 
know  if  it  surrounds  me  ;  but  it  has  no  power  over  me  ;  and 
when  I  think  of  it,  I  receive  a  sort  of  impression  of  pure  joy, 
because  I  understand  that  I  have  nothing  in  common  with  what 
it  loves  or  desires. 

DUCHESS  :  Yet  all  the  same,  we  are  among  the  worst 
children  of  this  evil  world ;  our  flesh  belongs  to  it  and  is  at 
every  moment  pierced  by  its  thorns. 

DOMINICAN  :  Thus  from  the  same  objects  you  both  derive 
widely  different  moral  nutrition.  As  for  you,  Madam,  the 
blows  of  villainy  have  fallen  on  you  and  left  the  indelible  traces 
of  fear  and  pain.  You,  Dona  Isabella,  have  heard  stories,  but 
in  yourself  you  have  not  felt  the  pang.  Only  the  echo  of 
villainy  has  reached  you.  This  is  how  the  deeds  of  men,  in 
their  weakness,  seize  merely  upon  a  narrow  circle  ;  they  last 
but  the  time  of  a  lightning  flash,  leaving  behind  a  vibration 
which  gradually  grows  weaker  and  disappears.  Their  ravages 
gain  little  ground,  and  what  remains  after  them  ....  what 
remains  is  ....  do  you  know?  .  .  .  The  eternal  splendour 
of  life !  This  light,  there  is  no  Satanic  excess  that  can  ever 
succeed  in  extinguishing  it !  Behold  you  both,  one  downcast 
in  renunciation,  the  other  joyous  in  detachment,  both  in  a  word, 
marching  equally  towards  the  unchangeable  region  of  the  good 
and  the  true. 

DUCHESS:  We,  we  two.  Father?  You  forget  from  what 
an  awful  cavern  we  came ! 

P  159 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

DOMINICAN:  That  is  Uic  most  wonderful  mystery  in  the 
universe  and  the  very  hub  of  its  existence.  The  electuary  is 
an  extract  of  the  viper's  venom,  and  from  soil  compounded  of 
lilth)'  substances  the  rarest  blooms  raise  their  exquisite  petals ! 
For  me,  for  all  this  people  of  Rome  which,  for  so  many  years, 
has  gazed  on  you,  do  you  not  think  that  your  mere  presence 
is  a  benefaction  ?  In  feeling  such  different  impressions  pro- 
duced by  the  name  that  you  bear,  do  you  mistake  the  intention 
of  Providence?  And  when  men  exclaim  with  rage  and 
horror :  "  Cesare  Borgia ! "  is  it  a  matter  of  indifference  that 
they  add  with  tenderness,  with  the  tears  of  love  in  their  eyes : 
"  Maria  and  Isabella  Borgia  "  ?  Ah,  Madam,  ah,  my  daughter, 
there  is  no  lack  of  fools  who,  seeing  Alexander  VI.  crowned 
with  the  tiara  and  Savonarola  dragged  to  execution,  cry  out 
that  there  is  no  God !  If  I  were  to  answer  them,  when  I  look 
upon  you,  "  No !  but  there  exists  no  evil,"  would  my  reasoning 
not  be  worth  as  much  as  theirs  ?  There  is  evil,  there  is  good, 
and  good  gains  the  upper  hand  ;  it  makes  less  noise,  it  does 
not  strut  or  make  parade  or  howl  or  strain  itself  in  order  to 
mvade  the  first  ranks,  but  it  is  present,  it  acts,  and  it  will  be 
the  hand  which  in  the  last  resort  will  bless  the  work  of  the 
Seven  Days ! 

DONA  ISABELLA  (kneeling  before  her  mother):  Don't 
weep,  Madam !  I  implore  you,  don't  shake  your  head  !  The 
Padre  speaks  true !  It  grieves  me  to  see  you  suffer  so !  Yet 
...  I  confess  ...  I  have  heaven  in  my  heart !  .  .  .  God  is 
so  great !  .  .  .  Believe  me !  .  .  .  Evil  ...  it  is  so  trifling  a 
thing ! 

DUCHESS  (wiping  her  eyes)  :  We  must  pray  for  this  unhappy 

man,  and  in  his  name  will  give  bountiful  alms. 

DONA  ISABELLA  (kissing  her  mother,  and  undoing  her 

necklace) :  I'll  give  all  my  jewels. 

DOMINICAN:    Give    them,    my    daughter.     What    I    see 

outweighs  all  the  misdeeds  of  the  criminal. 


j6q 


CESARE    BORGIA 

IN    SPAIN. 

VlANA. 

The  Navanese  troops  besiege  the  city. — It  is  night  ;  snow  and  rain. — At 
the  angle  of  the  trench,  towards  the  Plaza,  a  sentry  ;  the  sky  is  so 
dark  that  he  is  scarcely  visible. — An  ensign,  with  some  soldiers, 
relieving  the  watches. 

ENSIGN:  Is  it  finished? 

A   CORPORAL :   One   sentry  still  remains.     There   he   is, 

yonder. 

ENSIGN:  A  devil  of  a  night!     I  can  see  nothing.     It's  as 

cold  as  sin.     Forward! 

SENTRY  :  Who  goes  there  ? 

ENSIGN:  Navarrese!    .   .   .   Halt!    .    .   .    The  countersign! 

.  .  .  Sant'  lago! 

SENTINEL:    And   Pampeluna!     You  don't  recognise   me, 

Don  Michele? 

ENSIGN:    That    voice!  ...  Is    it   possible?  .  .  .  Corporal, 

bring  the  lantern  !  .  .  .  So  it  is  you,  Monsignor? 

SENTRY:  I  am  Cesare  Borgia. 

ENSIGN:  How  low  we  are  fallen!  .  .  .  And  I  your  superior 

officer!  .  .  .  What  a  misfortune! 

SENTRY :  So  long  as  we  live,  we  advance  and  we  may  climb 

up  again ! 

ENSIGN :  You  are  not  discouraged? 

SENTRY:     No — enraged!  .  .  .  They    opened    my    prison, 

thinking  me  harmless.     How  wrong  they  are !  .  .  .  France 

forsook  me  and  stripped  me.  .  .  .  Italy  boasts  in  the  belief 

I  am  dead !  .  .  .  Ah,  holy  vengeance ! 

ENSIGN :  For  myself,  I  don't  think  of  vengeance.     I  ask  no 

more  than  to  earn  my  bread  and  to  eat  it  without  making 

a  noise.     Do  likewise.     Believe  me,  we  are  beaten! 

SENTRY:    Faint  heart!     So  long  as  I  have  breath  in  my 

body,  it  is  a  breath  of  hatred  and  of  appetite. 

ENSIGN  :  Much  good  may  it  do  you!     You  will  break  your 

last  teeth.  .  .  .  Meanwhile,  I   am  relieving  you ;    come  and 

p  2  i6i 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

warm  yourself.   Here's  daybreak  ;  the  enemy  is  recommencing 

to  fire  upon  us. 

A  shot  from  a  falconet  from  a  bastion  strikes  the  sentry  full  in  the 
body. 

Blood  of  Christ !     There  he  is  down !  .  .      Don  Cesare !  .  .  , 

He  is  dead !  .  .  .  Crushed  in  the  mud  hke  a  worm,  he,  the 

proudest  of  fields!  ...  A  thousand  million  devils!  .  .  .  We 

won't  slay  here.  .  .  .  Let  us  go  and  warm  ourselves ! 

The  ensign  and  his  soldiers  depart  ;  camp-followers  seize  the  sentinel's 
bod}',  strip  it  naked  and  throw  it  into  a  ditch. 


END    OF    THE    SECOND    PART 


162 


THIRD    PART 


JULIUS    11. 


JULIUS  II. 

ROME. 

1503. 

A  room  in  the  Vatican. — Julius  II.  ;  II  Bramante. 

JULIUS  11. :  You  are  only  an  artist ;  but  I  who  comprehend 
all  the  energy  that  is  needed  in  the  soul  in  order  to  create 
beings  of  stone  and  endow  them  with  the  breath  of  life,  I 
will  speak  to  you  as  to  my  equal. 

IL  BRAMANTE :  I,  too,  Holy  Father,  understand  the  work 
of  which  you  are  thinking. 

JULIUS  II. :  You  realise  the  difficulty  of  restoring  order  in 
the  midst  of  the  ruins  that  have  accumulated  in  Italy  through 
centuries  of  savagery  and  the  abominations  of  my  predecessor. 
This  wretched  country  is  more  soiled  than  the  stables  that 
required  a  Hercules.  Amid  the  crumbling  stones,  the 
brambles,  the  poisonous  grasses,  serpents  and  toads  bask  in 
com.fort  and  puff  themselves  out,  and  nevertheless,  Bramante, 
these  ruins,  these  impure  undergrowths,  are  the  hallowed 
remains  of  a  magnificent  past !  I  wish  to  transmute  them 
into  a  paradise  as  fair  as  that  of  Holy  Scripture. 
IL  BRAMANTE  :  Such  a  work  would  cover  its  author  with 
glory. 

JULIUS  II. :  But  you  and  I  are  old.  It  is  late  to  accom- 
plish the  task.  Our  time  is  limited — we  are  forced  to  make 
haste.  We  must  think  out  our  designs  at  one  burst,  realise 
them  at  a  stroke,  without  hesitating,  without  waiting,  and 
with  these  hands  that  we  have,  hands  that  old  age  will  soon 
make  palsied.  Let  us  create  as  much  and  as  quickly  as 
possible,  stable  and  good  and  strong  things,  crushing  the  evil 
things  that  need  stamping  out.  Aid  me  with  all  your  heart 
and  with  all  your  power. 

IL  BRAMANTE  :  I  devote  myself  to  it  heart  and  soul.  May 
heaven  chastise  me  if  I  regret  my  toil ! 

JULIUS  II. :  While  I  exterminate  what  remains  of  the  petty 
tyrants  of  the  Romagna  and  establish  for  ever  the  power  of 
the  Holy  .See,  yes,  while  I  lose  no  opportunity,  I  swear  to  you, 
of  uprooting  the  barbarians  from  our  midst,  of  repulsing  the 

165 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Spaniards  as  well  as  the  French,  the  Germans  as  well  as  the 
Swiss,  and  that  with  fire,  sword,  excommunication  and  all  the 
thunders  of  the  anathemas.  ...  I  shall  spare  neither  violence 
nor  scruples  !  For,  mark  me  well,  my  son  !  There  are  certain 
ages  when  scruples  are  good  for  the  confessional  and  frankly 
criminal  elsewhere,  since  virtue  only  consists  in  success.  .  .  . 
While,  I  tell  }ou,  I  spare  nothing,  I  charge  you,  Bramante, 
to  act  in  such  a  way  that  the  hre  of  the  spirit  becomes  a 
pile  so  flaming  that  the  ignorance  and  coarseness  of  former 
ages  is  consumed  therein.  The  flame  must  blaze  up  so  high 
that  posterity  will  perceive  it  like  a  beacon  that  may  guide 
it  for  ever. 

IL  BRAMANTE :  A  world  overflows  from  your  head  into 
mine.  Your  ideas  cry  out  to  me  :  Work,  Bramante ! 
JULIUS  II.:  Obey  them,  and  as  I  have  not  sent  for  you  to 
lose  time  in  digressions,  listen  to  my  projects.  The  Vatican  is 
too  small !  It  is  not  a  palace  worthy  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff 
of  the  Christians,  of  this  successor  of  the  Apostle  who  opens 
and  shuts  the  gates  of  worlds.  I  need  a  lodging  fitted  to 
strike  the  nations  with  amazement  and  awe.  So  you  will 
build  me  here  two  long  and  sumptuous  galleries  which  will 
cross  the  width  of  the  valley  and  will  lead  to  the  Belvidere. 
You  will  muster  there  all  the  beauties,  all  the  elegances,  all 
the  inventions  of  your  art,  and  you  will  also  put  there  all 
its  audacities.  Do  not  fear  to  do  too  much !  Regret  no 
expense.  Remember,  and  never  lose  sight  of  this — that 
your  imagination,  however  potent  it  might  be,  could  never 
figure  but  as  a  dwarf  by  the  side  of  the  greatness  of  my  will. 
IL  BRAMANTE  :  I  shall  try  to  exalt  myself  as  best  I  can. 
It  will  be  a  long  and  painful  task. 

JULIUS  II. :  Painful  ?  I  care  not  for  that.  Long  ?  I  forbid 
it.  You  will  begin  at  once,  you  will  work  day  and  night. 
You  will  give  yourself  no  respite  or  peace  until  I  tell  you, 
"  Stop !  "—and  I  shall  not  tell  you  that !  Before  I  die  I  wish 
to  see  myself  what  I  am  carrying  out.  When  you  sleep,  when 
you  eat,  you  are  robbing  me!     Listen  again.     Rome  is  dis- 

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^0  face  page  166 


POI'E    JULIUS    II. 


JULIUS   II. 

figured  by  a  number  of  dark  and  unhealthy  alleys.  You  will 
have  them  swept  away.  In  their  place,  and  in  whatever  style 
you  please,  you  will  design  a  long,  broad  and  magnificent 
avenue.  You  will  line  it  with  palaces  and  sumptuous 
buildings. 

IL  BRAMANTE  :  Let  me  at  least  begin  with  the  Vatican 
galleries  ;  as  to  the  rest  we  shall  see.  You  alarm  me. 
JULIUS  II.:  Coward!  Once  more  I  tell  you,  I  am  old, 
I  cannot  wait.  Everything  must  be  done  in  a  hurry.  Is  it  my 
fault  if  men,  events,  the  slowness  of  success,  the  embarrassment 
of  set-backs,  the  interminable  series  of  barren  days,  months, 
and  years  that  litter  human  life  have  barred  my  way  so  long  ? 
Had  I  come  sooner  into  my  own,  I  should,  perhaps,  listen  to 
your  reasons,  and  yet  ....  no !  I  should  carry  out  more ! 
You  will  at  once  execute  what  I  order  you — it  is  nothing.  Now 
here  is  the  real  task  I  impose  on  you. 

IL  BRAMANTE  :  What!  Holy  Father,  is  there  yet  more? 
JULIUS  II. :  I  have  to  do  with  your  works  and  not  with  your 
tremors.  At  the  same  time  as  I,  yes,  I,  this  Giuliano  della 
Rovere,  who  am  speaking  to  you,  make  the  papacy  weigh  so 
heavily  on  the  shoulders  of  kings  and  carry  it  so  high  that 
the  inheritance  of  St.  Peter  is  worth  in  this  world  as  much  as 
that  of  Israel  in  the  other — you  will  found  here  the  outward 
sign  of  this  supremacy.  It  is  you,  Bramante,  who  will  build  a 
temple  acceptable  for  Holy  Church !  The  old  basilica,  like 
the  old  Vatican,  is  no  longer  worthy  of  us.  Pull  down,  destroy, 
break,  tear  away,  and  show  me,  in  place  of  what  you  will  have 
effaced,  all  that  you  have  the  power  to  invent. 
IL  BRAMANTE  •  I  shall  surround  myself  with  the  greatest 
artists  of  Italy.  If  only  Michael  Angelo  were  to  come  back! 
But  he  is  too  afraid  of  you  after  his  insult  towards  you ! 
JULIUS  II. :  Of  his  own  free  will  or  perforce  he  will  come 
back,  I  swear  it  to  you.  I  will  not  have  the  Sistine  remain 
unfinished. 

IL  BRAMANTE:  In  any  case,  I  have  Raphael  of  Urbino, 
and  it  the  Buonarotti  should  prove  obstinate.  .  .  . 

167 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

JULIUS  II.  :  I  should  prove  obstinate  also,  and  your  Raphael 
would  not  replace  him  for  mc.  Go  now,  make  haste,  to  the 
work  !  I  have  other  business.  The  Venetians  and  the  French 
are  at  loggerheads.     Now,  go  ! 


VENICE. 


The  crowd  fills  the  streets  and  the  churches. — Firing  of  artillery  in  the 
distance. — The  Senate  Hall  ;  from  the  windows  is  seen  the  Piazza 
San  Marco  crowded  with  people. — The  Senators  form  groups  as  they 
await  the  session,  and  discourse  with  gravity. 

GIOVANNI  CONTARINI  (to  those  surrounding  him) :  The 
situation  is  this :  the  battle  of  Agnadello  lost,  six  thousand 
men  left  on  the  field,  the  Alviane  grievously  wounded,  and 
all  our  provinces  on  terra  firma  vying  with  one  another  in 
cowardice. 

PIERO  BEMBO  :  Nothing  could  be  truer.  But  citizens  and 
peasants,  when  one  is  reduced  to  trusting  in  them,  have  never 
defended  their  unhappy  country  in  any  other  way. 
GIOVANNI  CONTARINI:  Agreed;  so  I  make  them  no 
reproach,  and  only  consider  facts.  Caravaggio,  Bergamo, 
Cremona  have  surrendered  of  their  own  accord.  Brescia  did 
better.  In  order  to  give  a  pledge  to  the  French,  the  inhabi- 
tants surprised  the  garrison  and  opened  their  gates.  In  brief, 
what  took  us  centuries  to  join  together  and  to  govern,  all 
crumbled  away  in  a  single  day. 

NAN  I :  Perhaps  we  must  take  into  account  the  fearful 
cruelties  in  which  the  French  indulged.  The  nations  were 
terror-stricken. 

MARCO  CONTARINI :  Even  were  the  conquerors  kind- 
hearted,  the  result  would  have  been  the  same.  Our  States 
in  Italy  lost ;  the  Emperor  entering  Friuli  and  turning  every- 
thing upside  down ;  the  Pope's  army  threatening  us  from 
Ravenna ;  the  Gonzaga  master  of  Lunato  and  of  Asola ;  the 

1 68 


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JULIUS   II. 

Duke  of  Ferrara  in  the  Polesina  and  the  French  themselves 

under  our  eyes  at  Fusino,  turning  their  cannon  upon  us.  .  .  . 

You  hear  them !  .  .  .  Whatever  words  we  may  use,  here  are 

the  facts. 

NANI :  Since  the  war  of  Chioggia  so  great  a  peril  has  never 

struck  the  Republic. 

BEMBO :  What  is  worse,  we  are  not  as  good  as  our  fathers. 

They  shov/ed  themselves  indomitable,  and  I  fear  that  we  are 

losing  our  heads. 

GIOVANNI  CONTARINI :  I  am  not  of  your  opinion.     The 

Ten  have  the  necessary  calm.     What  is  that  noise  on  the 

staircase  ? 

NANI :  It  is  the  procurator,  Paolo  Barbo,  being  brought  in  an 

armchair. 

PIERO  BEMBO  :  It  is  ten  years  since  he  appeared  in  the 

Senate ;  he  is  bent  with  age  and  half  paralytic. 

GIOVANNI    CONTARINI:    He   foresaw   your    suspicions, 

Messer  Bembo,  and  proves  by  his  coming  that  the  patricians 

of  Venice,  in  the  presence   of  the   French,  are  what  their 

ancestors,  the  Senators  of  Rome,  were  in  the  presence  of  the 

Gauls. 

NANI:  Here  is  the  most  serene  Prince  and  the  Signiory. 

Let  us  take  our  places,  gentlemen. 


169 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ON  THE  PIAZZA  SAN  MARCO. 
A  MERCHANT  (stopping  a  Senator  as  he   passes):    ivly 
lord,  may  I  speak  to  you  ? 

SENAruR:  Be  quick,  Mcsser  Antonio.  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
be  late  for  the  session. 

MERCHANT:  My  lord,  the  merchants  of  the  Rialto  learnt 
tliat  the  most  serene  Senate  has  offered  the  Republic  the 
fortunes  of  all  its  members ;  they  do  the  ScUiie  with  theirs. 
Let  our  chests  be  fetched  away ;  they  are  full,  and  we  give 
them  with  all  our  hearts. 

SENz\TOR :  I  thank  you,  Signer  Antonio,  and  the  Signiory 
will  be  informed  of  your  offers.  For  the  present,  I  advise  you 
to  go  home  and  induce  your  friends  to  do  likewise.  Idle  curiosity 
and  useless  agitation  must  be  left  to  the  lower  classes. 
Honest  burghers  should  never  cease  from  their  business,  what- 
ever may  happen.  To  stand  in  the  piazzas  is  disorder,  and 
disorder  is  the  very  extreme  of  evil. 

CITIZEN :  You  are  right,  my  lord.  Come,  Messer  Girolamo, 
and  you,  my  nephew,  let  us  go  home.  The  care  of  saving  the 
State  belongs  to  wiser  heads. 

Exeunt.  The  Senator  enters  the  Palazzo. 
A  CONSTABLE  (masked,  to  a  group  of  fishermen  and  boat- 
men) :  Go  to  the  arsenal,  all  of  you !  Men  are  being  enlisted 
there  for  the  navy. 

A  SAILOR:  We  should  like  to  know  what  the  illustrious 
Senate  is  going  to  decide. 

CONSTABLE :  It  has  already  been  decided  that  you  will  be 
whipped  if  you  rema'in  playing  the  vagabond  like  this  instead 
of  helping  your  country.     Come,  my  lads,  enough  of  gossip- 
ing.    Be  off ! 
THE  CROWD  :  Long  live  St.  Mark! 

A  barque  arrives,  swiftly  rowed,  and  comes  alongside  of  the  steps  of 
the  landing-stage.  The  provveditore  Andrea  Gritti  and  several 
men-at-arms  land.     At  this  moment  the  Senate  is  coming  out. 

GIOVANNI  CONTARINI:  What!  you,  Andrea?  How 
did  you  manage  to  pass  the  French  lines .' 

170 


JULIUS  II. 

GRITTI :  I  had  to  pass  them, 

BEMBO  :  What  news  ? 

GRITTI:  Excellent!     You  build  mills,  I  see  cisterns  being 

hollowed  out ;  the  wheat  is  plentiful ;  the  sluices  of  the  canals 

are  raised.     If  the  danger  is  great,  the  resolution  is  no  less ; 

God  is  with  our  country ! 

NANI :   The  Senate  is  about  to  congratulate  your  general  for 

not  having  despaired  of  fortune. 

GRITTI :  A  just  and  wise  measure.     The  Count  of  Petigliano 

did  all  he  could  at  Agnadello,  and  his  defeated  troops  are 

already  rallied.     We  shall  hold  our  ground  as  long  as  we  can. 

CONTARIXI :   The  Ten  are  sitting.     They  have  just  sent 

ambassadors  to  the  Pope,  praying  him  to  abandon  the  league. 

What  are  the  French  doing  at  Fusino ! 

GRITTI:    Mere    fooleries.       They    amuse    themselves    by 

firing  at  the  Campanile,  knowing  that  their  bullets  will  never 

get  half-way.     They  call  that  insulting  us. 

CONTARINI :   Come,  come !     The  country  won't  die !     To 

see  you  ahve  and  erect,  honest  Gritti,  and  to  shake  your  hand 

after  the  perils  that  have  spared  you  of  late,  that  is  indeed 

a  mark  of  divine  protection. 

GRITTI  (with  tears  in  his  eyes)  :  Long  live  St.  Mark  ! 

He  goes  into  the  Palazzo  with  his  suite.     The  senators  depart. 


i;i 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


BOLOGNA. 


The  Pope's  room. — Julius  II.  ;  cardinals,   bishops,  chamberlains,  officers 
of  the  Swiss  and  Italian  Guards. 

JULIUS  II.  (he  is  seated  in  an  armchair,  holding  in  his 
hands  a  stick  which  he  raps  on  the  ground  whenever  his  dis- 
course grows  heated)  :  Ah !  how  happy  I  feel  here !  Now  the 
Bolognese  are  brought  back  to  reason !  Let  them  try  to  kick 
once  more,  and  the  needle  will  enter  their  flesh  a  little  more 
deeply!  Henceforth,  they  belong  to  the  Church.  Let  them 
try  not  to  forget  that.  You  will  convey  them  my  words.  .  .  . 
Now,  call  in  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti.  .  .  .  Ah,  here  you 
are !  ...  At  last !  ...  It  is  well !  .  .  .  Had  I  not  threatened 
to  go  and  look  for  you  myself  at  Florence,  you  would  not  have 
come  back. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Most  Holy  Father,  I  thought  that 
you  had  no  need  of  me. 

JULIUS  II.:    Oh,  you  thought  so?  ...  I  should  be  glad  to 
know   what   gave   you   that   idea.     Explain   yourself   freely, 
without  any  fear.     I  fancy  you  are  not  afraid  of  me. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  .-  I  am  afraid  of  you.  Holy  Father,  but 
the  truth  is  the  truth. 

JULIUS  II. :  Oh,  you  are  afraid  of  me?  Well,  act  as  if  it 
were  of  no  consequence.  Whatever  put  it  into  your  head  to 
fly  from  Rome,  when  )'ou  know  quite  well  that  I  wished  you 
to  stay  there  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Holy  Father,  while  I  was  working 
at  th»  same  time  at  the  Sistine  frescoes  and  at  your  statues, 
and  when  I  had  just  finished  the  Moses  of  which  your  Holiness 
seemed  to  approve.  .  .  . 

JULIUS  II.  :  Oh,  I  seemed  to  you  to  approve  of  your  Moses  ? 
...  I  seemed  to  you.  .  .  .  Ah,  I  seemed  to  you.  .  .  .  But  go 
on  .  .  .  never  mind! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  I  asked  for  marbles;  I  got  them. 
It  was  necessary  to  pay  the  sailors,  and  while  they  were 
landing  the  blocks  at  Ripa,  I  came  to  ask  your  Holiness  for 
the  money  required. 

172 


JULIUS   II. 

JULIUS  II.:  I  was  busy  with  my  affairs  in  the  Romagna! 

They  are  settled,  and  I  shall  not  let  go  of  what  I  hold.     All  the 

world  must  know  that ;  the  least  that  can  be  expected  is  that 

the  interests  of  the  Church  should  come  before  .  .  .  But,  no — 

never  mind,  again !     Explain  yourself. 

MICHAEL    ANGELO:    Holy    Father,   you   are    angry;    I 

prefer  to  say  nothing. 

JULIUS  II.:  It  is  somewhat  strange  that  when  I  order  you 

to  speak,  you  make  me  repeat  myself  twice. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  Well  then,  since  I  am  compelled,  I 

will  say  that  you  did  not  receive  me.     I  paid  for  your  marbles 

out  of  my  own  pocket,  and  I  had  but  little  money. 

JULIUS  II. :  Am  I  responsible  for  your  foolish  extravagance, 

sir  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  drink  water  and  eat  bread.     My 

clothes  are  not  worth   ten  crowns.     You  take  me  for  your 

Raphael 

JULIUS  II. :  I  take  you  for  .  .  .  No  matter!  no  matter!  .  .  . 

Go  on! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  returned  even  three  times.     At  the 

third,  a  lackey  insolently  told  me  that  I  might  as  well  be 

patient,  seeing  that  he  had  the  order  never  to  admit  me. 

When  he  was  asked  if  he  knew  to  whom  he  was  speaking, 

he  answered :  I  know  very  well ;  but  I  obey  His  Holiness. 

JULIUS  II.:  And  then,  what  did  you  answer?     Let  me  see! 

Some  repartee  must  have  come  to  your  tongue !     You  are  not 

as  patient  as  sometimes  even  .  .  .  But  ...  no !     Well,  what 

did  you  answer? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Well,  I  answered  .... 

JULIUS  II.:  You  answered:  "When  the  Pope  has  need  of 

me,  he  will  know  that  I  have  gone  elsewhere." 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  That  is  true. 

JULIUS  II. :  Oh,  it  is  true?     Go  on. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  have  nothing  to  add.     You  know 

the  circumstances  as  well  as  I  do.     I  at  once  sold  my  furniture 

to  the  Jews  and  left  for  Florence. 

x;3 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

JULIUS  II.:  Well,  and  what  did  I  do  then?     For,  so  far  as 

I  know,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  put  up  with  disrespect.     I 

must  have  done  something. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  I  cannot  understand  what  pleasure 

your  Holiness  finds  in  torturing  me  thus.     You  know  better 

than  I  do  what  you  did. 

JULIUS  II.:  Will  you  finish? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:   Since  you  drive  me  to  it— this  is 

what  you  did.     You  sent  me  five  couriers,  one  after  another, 

ordering  m'e  to  return  without  delay  under  penalty  of  disgrace  ; 

but  I  am  not  minded  to  be  treated  as  a  man  of  so  little  worth. 

I  begged  you  to  look  for  another  sculptor. 

JULIUS  II. :  It  is  true  that  he  pushed  audacity  so  far  as  to 

send  me  a  message  in  these  very  terms.     But  continue. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :    Messer  Piero  Soderini  notified  me 

that  the  Signiory  had  received  three  briefs  ordering  me  to 

return  to  Rome  under  pain  of  excommunication.     Hence  I 

had  to  go — I  went,  and  here  I  am. 

JULIUS  II. :    So  that  you  did  not  come  back  of  your  own 

free  will  ?     And  some  gossips  go  telling  everywhere,  into  the 

bargain,  that  you  wanted  to  kill  me  by  throwing  rafters  on  my 

head  from  the  top  of  your  scaffolding  on  the  Sistine,  where 

I  had  entered  in  spite  of  you!     I  ask  you  now  what  prince 

is  so  soft,  so  easygoing,  so  stupid  that  he  will   suffer  such 

outrages  without  taking  vengeance. 

A  moment's  silence. 

A  BISHOP  :  Holy  Father,  your  Holiness  will  deign  to  take 

pity  on  this  poor  man.     He  knows  not  what  he  is  doing.   Such 

people  have  little  understanding  and  are   entirely  ignorant 

outside  their  art. 

JULIUS  II.  (rising  in  fury  and  beating  the  bishop  with  his 

staff) :  Tactless  fool !     Pedant !     Idiot !     Why  do  you  permit 

yourself  to  insult  my  artist  ?      Did  /  insult  him,   eh  ?     Let 

this  wretch,  this  ass,  this  blockhead,  go  home !     And  you, 

174 


JULIUS   II. 

Michael  Angelo,  come  here — come  nearer — come !  On  your 
knees.  .  .  .  Here  is  my  blessing.  .  .  .  Kiss  the  ring  of  the 
Fisherman !  Be  not  vexed,  my  son,  go  and  work.  I  will  give 
you  all  the  money  I  can.  Make  m.e  many  beautiful  things ! 
You  are  indeed  a  creative  god.  Go,  my  son — never  think 
again  of  leaving  me.  You  are  the  glory  of  the  Pope  and  of 
Italy. 

Michael  Angelo  rises,  crosses  himself  bows  and  goes  out, 

A  CHAMBERLAIN  :  The  Venetian  Ambassadors  have  come 
back  for  the  third  time  since  this  morning.  They  entreat  your 
Holiness  to  receive  them. 

JULIUS  11. :  They  are  bold!  Do  they  not  know  that  I 
refused  ? 

CHAMBERLAIN:  They  had  express  orders,  Holy  Father! 
JULIUS  II. :  These  Venetians !  Italians  but  not  of  Italy, 
Christians  against  their  will !  They  wished  to  wrest  the 
Romagna  from  me  and  forced  me  in  spite  of  myself  to  join 
hands  with  the  French !  Behold  them  now,  reduced  to  the 
last  extremity ;  what  do  they  want  now  ? 
A  VENETIAN  CARDINAL  (aside  to  the  Pope):  Holy 
Father,  the  Ambassadors  are  charged  with  ever)'-  possible  sub- 
mission. These  are  the  points  which  you  demanded  and 
which  they  grant :  public  penitence  for  having  offended  you, 
abandonment  of  the  benefices  depending  on  the  State.  .  .  . 
We  cede  you  Ferrara,  and  the  right  of  sailing  in  the  Adriatic 
without  having  to  pay  tolls. 

JULIUS  II.  (aside):     These  are  good  dispositions.     Bring 
in  your  deputies.     If  wc  can  come  to  an  understanding,  not 
only  shall  I  give  up  the  alliance  with  the  French,  but  you  will 
help  me  to  rid  Italy  of  them. 
CARDINAL  :  Yes,  Holy  Father. 

JULIUS  II. :  Let  the  Ambassadors  come  to  fmd  me  to-night. 
I  refuse  to  receive  them  in  public.     It  is  not  yet  time. 


1/5 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


HOME. 


A  garden,  cypresses,  banks  of  rose-trees  ;  a  marble  bench  ami  J  grasses  and 
llowers  ;  behind  the  bench  an  antique  statue  of  Venus. — Kaphael,  a  lady. 

LAUY :  1  love  you  more  than  you  think,  and  in  another  way. 
RAPHAEL  :  1  beheve  that  you  love  me  well.  If  1  requite  it 
to  you,  or  rather  if  I  give  you  love  and  your  heart  only  retlects 
to  me,  in  charming  flashes,  like  a  faithful  mirror,  the  tenderness 
that  I  shower  upon  you,  is  that  not  enough  ? 
LiVDV  :  Raphael,  you  do  not  understand  me.  I  love  you 
for  my  own  part,  and  so  entirely  that  I  am  amazed  how  little 
you  understand  it. 

RAPHAEL:  My  dear  love,  why  do  you  speak  thus? 
LADY :  It  grieves  me  that  a  soul  like  yours  should  fail  to  see 
the  really  precious  favours  heaped  upon  it,  and  linger  over  what 
is  less  worthy  of  itself  and  of  me.  Why  would  you  not  allow 
me  this  pride  of  believing  that  my  affection  is  worth  more 
than  my  beauty? 

RAPHAEL :  I  think  it  is,  more  than  you  can  desire.  Am  I 
of  a  mind  so  base  as  to  remark  m  you  nothing  but  the  hre 
of  your  great  splendid  eyes,  the  soft  roundness  and  brilliance 
of  your  cheeks,  the  half-open  pomegranate  of  your  lips  and 
the  suppleness  of  that  incomparable  figure  ?  Do  not  believe 
it !  I  understand  also,  and  at  least  as  well,  how  noble  and 
generous  is  your  soul,  and  to  what  a  point  rises  that  intellect, 
so  justly  compared  by  more  than  one  poet  to  the  bold  flight 
of  the  bird  which  bears  Jupiter  into  the  bosom  of  the 
Empyrean.  If  I  had  to  paint  a  noble  Sibyl,  it  is  you  that  I 
should  choose  ;  the  divine  laurel  wreathed  about  your  brows 
would  never  have  pressed  a  worthier  brow !  Who  does  not 
recognise  in  you  the  brilliant  pupil  of  the  most  sublime 
philosopher — yes,  the  daughter  of  Plato  ?  Have  you  not  been 
seen,  before  an  assembly  of  sages  in  transports  of  admiration 
and  pleasure,  the  day  when  you  commented  on  the  "  Pha^do  " 
with  an  eloquence  worthy  of  the  orators  of  Athens  and  of 
Rome  ?     Oh,  most  beautiful,  most  learned,  most  inspired,  and 

1/6 


X 


/ 


// 


■*;  f ' 


.  .1 


f 
f 


^ 


KAI  I".\i;i.l';     SANTI     (IsAI'IlAKL) 


To  fact  pa^e  176 


JULIUS  II. 

at  the  same  time  most  seductive  of  women,  why  do  you  think 
that  I  misunderstand  you? 

LADY  :  1  am  not  what  you  say ;  I  am  she  who  loves  Raphael 
and  is  perhaps  loved  by  him  in  return. 
RAPHAEL :  Perhaps  ? 

LADY  :  No  glory  could  be  greater  than  that.  Is  it  not  natural 
that  I  should  think  sometimes  that  this  Raphael,  at  this 
moment  on  the  plane  of  eternal  happiness,  seated  at  my  feet 
on  this  grass  that  sparkles  like  emeralds,  his  arm  on  my  knee, 
his  fine  hair,  his  charming  head  so  tenderly  pressed  between 
my  hands  which  .  .  .  you  feel,  do  you  not  ?  .  .  .  tremble  with 
a  thrill  of  the  deepest  felicity — yes,  if  I  think  sometimes  that 
this  Raphael,  perceiving  and  esteeming  too  much  in  me  the 
element  that  cannot  endure,  does  not  think  enough  of  my 
undying  devotion !  Look  at  me  .  .  .  look  at  me  closely  .  .  . 
yes  .  .  .  look  at  me  thus.  .  .  .  What  do  you  find,  what  do  you 
see  in  the  sincerity  of  my  eyes,  save  the  ceaseless  expression 
of  my  passion  for  your  triumphs,  your  glory,  the  enhancement 
of  your  genius  ? 

RAPHAEL :  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  not  understand ! 
Frivolous  attachments,  my  beloved,  inconstant  desires, 
passing  caprices  are  the  beams  of  a  sun  that  will  soon  set. 
They  give  little  warmth  or  light,  but  brighten  charmingly  the 
ordmary  stages  of  existence.  He  who  enjoys  them  is  not 
wrong.  They  are  like  fruits,  bunches  of  grapes,  clusters  of 
cherries,  green  and  luscious  figs,  hanging  from  the  end  of  a 
bough  under  the  gleaming  foliage.  The  joyous  passer-by 
would  be  wrong  not  to  taste  of  them  if  he  can  take  them,  and 
not  to  gaze  at  them  with  longing  if  he  cannot  reach.  Yet  do 
not  imagine  that  I  devote  myself  to  searching  long  for  the 
innumerable  gifts  displayed  everywhere  before  the  transitory 
appetite  of  the  birds  of  heaven !  My  folly,  or  rather  my 
weakness  of  heart,  is  not  great  enough  for  that. 
LADY :  That  is  well  said,  Raphael.  I  feared  that  this  was 
not  your  opinion. 
RAPHAEL  :  You  do  not  know  me  well,  if  you  suspected  me 

Q  2  i;; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

of  such  a  narrowness  of  imagination  and  of  heart.  Suffer  me 
to  be  a  child  that  laughs  and  laughs.  .  .  . 
LADY:  Like  a  brook  that,  as  it  runs  over  the  pebbles,  casts 
before  the  echoes  the  pearls  of  its  laugher.  Who  would  blame 
you  ?  Is  it  I  that  would  blame  you,  dear  child  ? 
RAPHAEL :  But  I  know,  too,  what  a  gulf  divides  pleasure 
from  happiness,  and  when  the  angel  of  pure  devotion  comes 
and  sits  m  his  white  dress,  on  the  broken  stone  of  the  tomb 
whence  he  made  life  leap  forth,  I  do  not  ask  him,  "  Who  are 
you  ? "  for  I  feel  in  in)self  the  power  of  that  which  he  has 
done.  Common  imaginations,  dull  wits  believe,  perhaps,  when 
they  should  not  believe,  and  doubt  when  they  have  no  right 
to  doubt.  They  take  the  small  for  the  great,  the  great  for 
the  formless  and  .  .  .  You!  Never  think  for  that  I  mis- 
understand you !  Do  not  imagine  that  the  nobleness  of  your 
nature  is  a  light  invisible  to  me,  that  my  eyes  are  blind.  I 
know  what  you  are,  I  feel  your  worth,  I  accept  what  you  give 
me  and  I  weigh  fairly  all  the  good  that  comes  to  me  there- 
from. ...  It  is  your  lover,  your  true  lover  who  speaks  to 
you  .  .  .  but  also  your  friend !  My  soul !  It  is  your  com- 
panion— what  more  can  I  say — it  is  your  equal !  He  hears 
his  equal  speaking  and  listens  to  her  advice  as  it  deserves. 
LADY :  My  eyes  are  filled  with  tears  .  .  .  but  such  sweet 
tears !  I  know  not  how  to  thank  you  for  it !  How  have  I 
been  so  good  that  heaven  has  given  you  to  me?  By  what 
have  I  deserved  this  ?  In  truth,  I  know  not. 
RAPHAEL:  Nor  I  either — I  know  not  by  what  good  works 
I  have  been  empowered  to  buy  you,  my  treasure ;  but  why 
look  for  causes  ?  Are  we  less  happy  because  we  do  not  know 
our  happiness  ? 

LADY :  You  said  so  just  now.  I  am  a  daughter  of  Plato, 
and  I  take  delight  in  searching  the  origins  of  heavenly  things. 
RAPHAEL :  Flowers  are  better  than  seeds,  and  fruits  than 
flowers. 

LADY :  You  are  the  man  of  that  which  has  blossomed,  of 
that  which  is  ripe,  of  that  which  can  be  seen,  tasted  and 

178 


JULIUS   II. 

relished.  You  do  not  feel  inclined  to  take  a  lyre  to  pieces  to 
find  in  its  sonorous  interior  the  precise  spot  where  the  sound 
is  formed. 

RAPHAEL :  That  is  true.  Heaven  did  not  assign  me  that 
task.  Still,  do  not  accuse  me  of  despising  all  that  lies  beneath 
the  surface.  When  science  helps  to  develop  life  itself,  I  give 
It  its  full  due.  But  I  am  not  greatly  prone  to  those  obscure 
studies  that  aim  at  tracking  down  secrets  which  it  is,  after 
all,  not  very  expedient  to  unravel.  In  reality,  I  love  what  is 
touched  and  bathed  by  the  light  of  the  sun — the  rest  has  for 
me  a  secondary  importance. 

LADY :  Yes,  in  that  adored  head  reigns  light,  dazzling  and 
omnipresent.  Truth  can  be  seen  there  without  difficulty,  and 
error  finds  no  place  for  its  shadows. 

RAPHAEL  :  You  are  mistaken.  I  have  never  spontaneously, 
by  myself,  alone,  recognised  what  had  to  be  found.  Someone 
always  showed  me  my  way,  and  it  is  only  when  a  strange  hand 
has  stripped  the  images,  that  I  must  contemplate,  of  the  clothes 
which  hide  them  from  me,  that  I  catch  sight  of  them,  and 
from  that  moment  I  see  them  clearly. 
LADY  :  What  do  you  mean  ? 

RAPHAEL  :  Had  I  not  gone  out  one  day  from  Perugino's 
workshop,  never  to  return.  I  should  never  in  my  life  have 
understood  anything  but  what  he  showed  me.  When  I  was 
at  Florence,  the  sight  of  Masaccio  revealed  to  me  what  I  should 
never  have  seen  but  for  that  master  ;  it  was  still  nothing.  I  did 
not  really  forsake  the  swaddling-clothes  of  infancy  until  I  came 
to  the  studio  of  Baccio  d'Agnolo,  living  all  the  day  with  the 
great  artists,  Andrea  Sansovino,  Filippino  Lippi,  Benedetto 
da  Majano,  il  Cronaca,  Francesco  Granacci,  hearing  from  each 
what  he  knew,  wliat  he  was  (so  to  speal^")  discovering  at  every 
hour,  in  the  world  of  his  dreams,  whether  he  were  sculptor, 
painter  or  architect.  When  I  was  thus  prepared  and  had 
detached  and  shaken  off  the  wrappings  of  early  childhood 
and  my  limbs  became  free,  it  was  then,  and  then  only,  that  I 
was    able   to  understand  the  lessons  offered   by    the  great 

179 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Lionardo  to  me,  to  each  of  us,  to  all  future  ages.  You  see:  I 
am  not  myself  the  fountain-head  whence  flows  the  stream  of 
my  art,  and  without  reckoning  tiie  examples  of  antiquity,  many 
others  have  served  as  a  rule,  a  guide,  a  source  for  what  you  call 
my  genius. 

LADY  :  Well !  you  are  not  like  Pallas  Athene,  that  sprang 
fully-armed  from  the  brain  of  a  god.  You  are  hardly  yet  a 
man ;  the  beauty  of  your  face  still  keeps  many  of  those 
almost  feminine  contours,  the  flowers  of  adolescence.  No  one 
could  be  surprised  if  you  first  had  to  listen  to  the  opinions  of 
your  precursors  and  behold  and  estimate  their  discoveries.  But 
now  you  know  all.  Achilles  has  no  need  of  the  lessons  of  the 
Centaur,  nor  my  Alexander  of  the  admonitions  of  Aristotle. 
What  was  placed  in  your  hands  has  borne  fruit ;  you  know 
more  than  Perugino,  more  than  Masaccio,  more  than  Lionardo, 
more  than  all  the  rest  together,  and  you  are  only  beginning 
life.  The  whole  world  will  learn  from  you,  and  you  will  learn 
nothing  from  anyone. 

RAPHAEL :  You  are  wrong  once  more.  I  shall  always 
learn,  and  from  the  whole  world.  Do  you  wish  me  to  confess 
to  you  in  what  respect  I  consider  myself  perhaps  happier  than 
my  forerunners  ?  In  this  :  each  of  them  remained  shut  up  in 
a  circle.  He  knew  the  artists  of  his  city,  and  had  no  other 
company.  He  believed,  like  you,  that  native  talent  has  no 
limits  and  is  enough  for  attaining  any  result.  Nothing  is  more 
untrue.  I  shall  be  great,  I  who  am  your  Raphael,  because  I 
learn  everywhere  and  from  all ;  I  never  cease  from  investi- 
gating. It  is  of  little  moment  to  me  to  rummage  under  the 
roots  of  the  fruit-tree — that  all  possess — but  I  want  the  tree 
and  I  want  the  fruits,  and  that  is  why,  beloved,  I  am  T.  .  .  . 
LADY  :  You  are  grace,  you  are  charm,  you  are  everything.  .  .  , 
RAPHAEL  :  No,  I  repeat,  I  am  not  everything.  I  am  reason, 
perhaps.  I  am  moderation.  I  am  good  judgment.  I  am,  ii 
you  will,  wisdom  and  enlightened  taste  ;  but  I  am  not  depth, 
and  above  all  I  am  not  sublimity. 
LADY :  Who,  then,  is  both  these  last  ? 

180 


JULIUS  II. 

RAPHAEL :  Michael  Angelo. 

LADY :  Alichael  Angelo  ?  That  sombre,  gloomy,  narrow, 
obscure,  tortured  soul  ?  .  .  .  You  cannot  think  so,  Raphael ! 
To  compare  such  a  man  to  yourself !  He  resembles  a  demon 
of  darkness,  while  you  are  the  image  of  the  archangel  whose 
name  you  bear.  What  whim  of  modesty  has  taken  hold  of 
you  now  ? 

RAPHAEL :  If  I  could  dive  down  into  that  melancholic  soul, 
I  should  bring  up  many  smoke-grimed  secrets  from  which  he 
can  fashion  gleaming  gold.  Vulcan,  too,  was  a  deformed  god, 
covered  with  soot,  living  in  the  ruddy  slag  of  his  Lemnian 
smithy.  Yet  none  of  the  gods  that  walked  the  azure  ways, 
neither  Phoebus  of  the  sun  nor  Mercury  the  flute-player,  were 
ever  as  mighty  craftsmen  as  he ! 

LADY  :  No  !  You  are  wrong !  There  is  nothing  in  common 
between  the  overflowing  life  that  is  poured  from  your  nature 
into  your  works,  a  lovable  and  inspiring  force,  and  the  savage 
brutality  of  him  whom  you  seem  to  envy. 
RAPHAEL :  Had  I  not  copied  as  his  pupil,  as  the  most 
attentive  and  humble  of  pupils,  the  inimitable  cartoon  of  Pisa  ; 
had  not  my  uncle  Bramante,  in  letting  me  secretly  into  the 
Sistine  chapel,  given  me  the  inestimable  happiness  of  gazing 
on  the  creations  of  this  all-powerful  artist,  I  should  not  be 
what  I  am,  I  could  not  even  dream  of  what  I  might  achieve. 
Why  do  you  lower  your  head?  I  shall  execute  greater  and 
nobler  things  than  he,  although  he  is  a  greater  inventor  than 
I.  He  discovers,  he  knows  how  to  discover ;  but  it  is  not 
granted  him  to  separate  silver  from  lead,  or  a  thousand  stains 
of  rust  from  the  purity  of  his  thought.  As  for  me,  beloved, 
perhaps  I  am  not  the  equal  of  him,  the  Jehovah  of  a  world  ;  I 
have  taken  from  all  parts  and  from  every  hand ;  what  is  mine 
has  belonged  to  others.  But  llirn,  I  have  enlarged,  uplifted, 
illuminated  everything!  I  am  one  who  sets  in  order !  I  have 
not  trifled  with  copying  one,  stealing  from  another,  meanly 
adjusting  the  shreds  and  patches  secretly  borrowed  from 
everyone,  which  everyone  had  the  right  to  reclaim  later  on. 

i8i 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

• 

No  !  I  melted  all  together,  and  from  these  dissimilar  elements 
I  created  a  force  at  a  single  bound.  It  is  from  matter  that  is 
compact  and  really  my  own  that  I  am  preparing,  henceforth, 
to  compose  my  works,  ever  adding  to  it ;  this  matter  is  mixed 
according  to  my  own  views,  coloured  as  it  suits  me,  hard  at 
the  exact  point  that  I  wish  ;  and  it  is  thus  that  I  shall  rear 
monuments  on  which  I  will  imprint  my  seal  and  my  right, 
which  none  will  dispute.  You  see,  I  praise  myself  in  order  to 
re-assure  you  and  to  please  you.  But  I  show  you  my  mind  as 
God  has  made  it,  and  not  as  in  the  distorted  image  called  up 
by  passionate  love.  I  do  not  magnify  myself  nor  yet  make 
myself  smaller.  And  I  have,  above  Michael  Angelo  and  the 
rest,  a  prerogative  of  which  you  do  not  speak  to  me,  and  which 
alone  is  worth  more  than  all  that  they  possess. 
LADY :  I  know  it,  I  see  it,  I  feel  it ! 
RAPHAEL  :  And  what  is  it,  pray?  Is  it  so  manifest? 
LADY  :  Ah,  how  manifest!  How  it  sparkles  in  your  glances, 
how  it  is  discernible  in  your  face,  in  that  god-like  grace  that 
animates  your  every  movement !  Your  prerogative,  my 
Raphael,  is  to  be  happy !  You  are  happy !  Happiness  spread 
her  rose-coloured  veil  above  your  mother's  bed  at  the  moment 
of  your  birth.  From'  your  first  step,  from  your  first  smile,  you 
were  beloved.  It  seems  as  if  the  years  that,  in  linked  chain, 
form  your  life,  have  known  no  season  but  spring.  You  have 
thought,  you  have  meditated,  you  have  worked,  you  always 
work ;  but  what  is  trouble  for  others  is  always  transmuted  for 
you  into  easy  pleasure.  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  work 
against  the  grain.  You  have  been  loved,  I  said.  You  are 
loved !  The  great,  princes,  popes,  most  honoured  ladies,  adore 
Raphael ;  if  old,  they  treasure  him  like  a  cherished  son,  and, 
if  in  the  bloom'  of  youth,  they  do  as  I  do — they  idolise  him! 
I  am  not  astonished  to  see  you  express  candour,  virtue,  inno- 
cence, and  charm  so  well.  .  .  .  Evil  has  been  forbidden  to 
come  near  you,  and  as  you  have  never  known  anything  but 
love,  how  could  you  be  other  than  what  you  are  ?     Farewell 

182 


JULIUS  II. 

....  farewell,  my  friend  ;  farewell,  my  lover.  .  .  .  Farewell, 

my  idol. 

RAPHAEL  :  You  are  going  already  ? 

LADY :     Already  ?     Yes,     it    is    already  ....  it    is    too 

soon !  .  .  .  Nevertheless,  I  have  been  here  since  this  morning  ; 

the  sun  is  going  down,  and  the  gold  of  its  rays  seems  to  be 

drowned  in  the  gleaming  purple  of  its  dying  fires.     Besides,  I 

hear  voices  at  the  end  of  the  garden.   Your  friends  are  coming 

to  look  for  you.     I  would  not  have  them  meet  me. 

RAPHAEL :  Stay  a  moment,  my  adored  one  ;  I  wish  to  tell 

them  to  wait  for  me  in  my  house.     Do  not  go  yet,  I  implore 

you!  .  .  .  You  have  made  me  talk  of  ever}-thing,  but  what 

have  we  said  of  ourselves  ? 

LADY :    Oh,  that  we  know  well  enough.     Farewell.  ...  I 

see  La  Bianchina!     She  makes  me  a  sign.     My  litter  has  long 

been  in  the  lane.     How  rash  we  are ! 

RAPHAEL  :  How  cruel  you  are! 

LADY :  You  are  ungrateful,  Raphael. 

RAPHAEL :    Till    to-morrow,    then  ?     Flere  ?  ...  at    your 

house?     On  the  Tiber  bridge?  .  .  .  Where? 

LADY  :  No !  .  .  .  to-morrow.  .  .  .  What's  to  be  done  ?  .  .  . 

Well,  let   us  risk  something!     Come  at   ten  o'clock  in  the 

morning,  at  the  Holy  Apostles  ;    I  shall  go  there  to  hear  the 

Mass,  and  I  shall  be  alone  in  the  church  with  La  Bianchina. 

Farewell ! 

RAPHAEL  :  Farewell  I     I  worship  you ! 

Exit  Beatrice. 

FRANCESCO  PENNI  (IL  FATTORE) :  Master,  here  is 
the  Bramantc !  He  is  coming  in  great  haste  to  speak  to  you. 
RAPHAEL  :  Bring  me  a  cartoon  and  some  chalks.  Where 
are  my  pupils  ? 

IL  FATTORE :  Several  in  the  two  studios  ;  most  of  them 
in  the  Vatican  ;  some  are  executing  v.hat  you  ordered  on  the 
frescoes  of  the  hall  of  the  Segnatura,  others  arc  going  forward 
with  the  sketches  of  the  Heliodorus.     Several,  also,  have  left 

183 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

early,  and  are  working  at  Signer  Agostino  Chigi's  at  the 
pictures  of  Psyche. 

RAPHAEL  :  Let  them  all  be  sent  word  that  I  shall  be  there 
soon !  I  shall  go  to  my  workshops,  to  the  Vatican,  and  to 
Signor  Chigi's.     Give  me  the  chalks. 

He  begins  the  portrait  of  Beatrice  d'Este. 
IL  BRAMANTE :  Good-day,  nephew.  The  Pope  wishes  to 
speak  to  you.  He  considers  that  the  work  does  not  advance. 
You  will  have  a  severe  lecture  to  face  if  you  are  not  careful. 
RAPHAEL  :  Before  anything  else,  I  shall  hnish  this  sketch. 
I  have  it  in  my  head !  It  shall  not  escape  me.  So  sit  down, 
uncle  .  .  .  here  in  the  shade  of  these  rose-laurels.  Here  is 
a  shelter  made  for  you.  A  lemonade  for  Signor  Bramante ! 
IL  BRAMANTE  :  The  fact  is  that  I  am  dead-tired.  This 
life,  at  my  age,  is  unbearable. 

RAPHAEL :  The  life  is  admirable  for  you  as  well  as  for  me. 
If  it  shook  us  less,  how  all  would  wither  in  our  souls !' 
IL  BRAMANTE :  You  are  perhaps  right  as  regards  certain 
moments ;  but  there  are  others  when  one  can  stand  no  more. 
Julius  II.  is  an  appalling  master ;  his  exactingness  is  on  a  par 
with  his  genius. 

RAPHAEL  :  He  does  not  spare  us ;  but  is  he  indulgent  to 
himself.?  Assuredly  not.  That  is  something  to  keep  us  in 
a  good  temper.  Here  is  a  sketch  of  which  I  need  not  be 
ashamed,  I  think.  It  wells  up  in  my  soul  and  runs  on  like 
a  live  thing  under  the  pencil!  ...  As  for  the  Pope,  as  for 
myself,  I  do  my  best.  What  has  he  to  complain  of?  The 
hall  of  the  Holy  Signatory  is  almost  finished ;  what  is  left 
will  soon  be  done.  The  picture  of  Theology,  as  I  composed 
it  in  accordance  with  the  ideas  of  Count  Castiglione  and 
Signor  Ludovico  Ariosto,  is  finished.  I  shall  let  that  of 
philosophy  rest  a  while,  because  I  have  acquired  a  taste  for 
the  Mass  of  Bolsena,  and  the  composition  is  of  such  importance 
to  me  that  I  shall  not  rest  until  I  have  brought  it  to  a  good 

184 


JULIUS  II. 

issue.  I  cannot  go  faster ;  the  Holy  Father  has  no  right  to 
complain ;  we  are  making  him  beautiful  things. 
IL  BRAMANTE :  That  is  just  what  irritates  him,  and,  when 
I  told  him,  he  grew  angry  and  swore  that  it  was  because  he 
knew  it  that  he  wished  to  draw  out  of  us  all  that  we  are  capable 
of.  He  complains  of  you,  he  complains  of  Michael  Angelo, 
of  Sansovmo,  of  Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  of  all  the  artists  he 
has  brought  to  Rome,  of  me,  of  the  whole  universe.  He  looks 
on  human  beings  as  nothing  but  tortoises ;  the  terrestrial 
globe  does  not  turn  rapidly  enough  on  its  axis,  and  every- 
where, over  all,  and  for  everyone,  he  would  fain  double  and 
treble  the  movement.  Meanwhile,  take  care ;  his  peculiar 
taste  inclines  him  towards  the  Buonarotti.  I  should  not  like 
him,  under  pretext  of  negligence  on  your  part,  to  withdraw 
you  from  work  to  give  it  to  that  man  of  darkness. 
Rx\PHAEL :  Uncle,  I  tell  you  again,  we  do  what  we  can. 
But  here  are  some  friends  who  condescend  to  visit  us.  Call 
the  servants.  Ho !  lemonade  there,  fruits,  cakes !  seats !  seats ! 
everywhere ! 

Richly  dressed  servants  bring  armchairs,  chairs,  settees  ;  others  offer 
refreshments  of  every  sort.  Enter  Signor  di  Bibbiena,  Agostino 
and  Sigismondo  Chigi^  the  architects  Baccio  Pintelli  and 
Baldassare  Peruzzi  ;  Giacomo  Sansecondo,  the  musician  ; 
Tibaldeo,  the  poet  ;  Marc-Antonio  Raimondi,  the  engraver, 
and  others. 

AGO.STINO  CIIIGI :  Well,  master,  always  at  work!     What 

a  charming  face ! 

RAPHAEL :  Most  reverend  signor,  magnificent  signors,  my 

noble  friends,  welcome !     All  gay,  fresh,  and  happy !     Pray 

take  your  places !     Do  you  allow  me  to  continue  what  I  have 

begun  ?     I  must  finish  to-day,  and  I  hardly  have  time,  because 

His  Holiness  is  asking  for  me. 

BIBBIENA:  Go  on,  master.     The  moments  that  would  be 

taken  from  you  would  be  an  odious  theft  from  posterity,  as 

from  our  own  loftiest  pleasures. 

TIBALDEO:   Is  it  true  that  His  Holiness  is  so  delighted 

185 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

with  your  picture  of  Heliodorus  that,  unhkely  though  it  sounds, 

he  wishes  to  contemplate  himself  in  the  midst  of  that  great 

court  of  justice  and  that  powerful  tumult  of  ancient  days? 

RAPHAEL  :  Very  true.     I  did  the  cartoon  last  night.     Bring 

it,  Francesco.     You  will  go  and  see  it  and  tell  me  your  opinion. 

AGOSTINO    CHIGI:    The   potentate    who,    humbling   the 

smaller  princes  to  the  dust,  plans  the  union  of  Italy  under  the 

crook  of  St.  Peter  and  our  deliverance  for  ever  from  the  foreign 

spoilers,  this  potentate,  our  Pope,  cannot  but  have  been  glad 

when  he  received  from  your  hand,  Raphael,  the  spectacle  of 

the  impious  driven  from  the  temple  by  the  fiery  sword  of  the 

angel  of  the  Lord  !     He  himself  is  that  angel ! 

BIBBIENA  :  Ah,  here  are  the  cartoons  ! 

Servants    place    the    cartoons    on    the    easels    under    the    Fattore's 
direction. 

SIGISMONDO  CHIGI :  The  hkeness  of  the  Pope  is  striking. 

SANSECONDO:  That  is  his  proud  and  overbearing  mien 

before  his  foes ! 

PERUZZI :  You  recognise  yourself  there,  Marc-Antonio  ?     It 

is  you  who  are  one  of  the  porters  of  the  pontifical  chair  ? 

MARC-ANTONIO:  I  am  not  the  only  one  thus  honoured 

by  Raphael.     Have  you  seen  my  companion  ? 

TIBALDEO  :  Per  Dio !     Is  it  not  Signor  Giovanni  Pietro  de' 

Foliari  of  Cremona  ? 

BACCIO     PINTELLI:     What!     the     Secretary     of    the 

Memorials  ? 

RAIMONDI :  No  other.    The  poor  man  is  at  the  summit  of 

his  happiness  and  goes  telling  the  tale  all  over  the  city. 

BIBBIENA:   He  is  right.     You  have  done  for  him,  master, 

what  God  refused  us  all ;  you  made  him  immortal. 

IL   BRAMANTE :    Take   these   cartoons   with  you   to   the 

Vatican.     This  will  be  the  true  means  of  soothing  the  Pope. 

Are  you  getting  on  with  your  sketch  ?     It  is  nearly  time  to 

go  ;   the  sun  is  setting. 

RAPHAEL  :  I  am  ready.     Fattore,  I  beg  you,  my  lad,  have 

this  dear  head  taken  to  my  bedroom.     I  shall  work  at  it  this 

1 86 


JULIUS   11. 

evening  when  I  come  in.     My  blue  velvet  mantle  !  my  biretta 

with  ropes  of  pearls !     Bid  a  dozen  of  my  men  come  with  me ! 

You  will   accompany  us !     Signer   Bibbiena,  all  of  you,  my 

friends,  stay  and  amuse  yourselves.     The  house  is  lilce  its 

master,  it  belongs  to  you.     Signor  Agostino,  I  shall  come  to 

your  house  v.-hen  I  leave  the  Vatican.     And  I  shall  see  what 

my  pupils  are  doing. 

AGOSTINO  CHIGI :   I  shall  run  to  welcome  ycu.     I  also 

have  to  speak  to  you  of  the  work  on  my  chapel  at  Santa  IMaria 

della  Pace.     When  will  you  begin  it  ? 

RAPHAEL  :   Next  week  without  fail.    You  do  not  forget, 

Messer,  that  to-da}-  is  St.  Anne's  Day  ?    We  are  supping  with 

our  worthy  German  Johannes  Goricius. 

AGOSTINO  CHIGI :  The  Signora  Imperia  is  bound  to  be 

there.     There  is  thus  no  reason  to  fear  that  Signor  Bibbiena 

will  fail  to  appear. 

BIBBIENA:   Certainly  not;    I  think  that  the  same  may  be 

said  of  you.     The  Imperia  has  a  magnet  in  her  eyes  to  draw 

the  hearts  of  men. 

Enter  a  pupil  of  II  Bramante. 

PUPIL :  Maestro,  hasten  to  the  Vatican.     A  misfortune  has 

happened. 

IL  BRAMANTE :  Blood  of  Christ !  what  do  you  mean  ? 

PUPIL  :  The  wall  of  the  new  gallery  of  the  Belvedere  has  just 

had  a  crack  all  its  length,  and  threatens  ruin. 

IL  BRA^IANTE  :  How  could  it  be  otherwise?     The  Pope  is 

pressing  so  hard!     We  have  to  work  day  and  night,   and 

scarcely  know  what  we  are  doing! 

RAPHAEL  :    My  tale   is  the  same.     The  ill-fitted  plasters 

come  ofE  with  the  paintings,  or  being  badly  prepared,  spoil 

the  colours.     Good-bye,  sirs ;  I  will  come  with  you,  uncle. 

BIBBIENA  AND  THE  OTHERS:  Till  lliis  evening  then, 

at  the  house  of  Goricius. 

RAPHAEL  (to  II   Bramante,   coming  out  of  the  garden): 

187 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Before  all,  take  me  once  more,  as  you  pass,  to  the  Sistine.     I 

must  go  in  there.     Michael  Angelo  has  achieved  miracles ;   I 

must  understand  them,  so  as  not  to  be  behindhand.     What  a 

wizard  !     What  a  master  is  this  Buonarotti ! 

IE  BRAMANTE  :    So  far   as  portents  are  concerned,   the 

greatest  that  he  has  shown  me  is  certainly  this — that  he  has 

made  the  Pope  so  pliant  as  to  show  him  more  consideration 

than  he  would  to  God  the  Father ! 

RAPHAEE  :  We  have  no  cause  for  complaint  cither,  uncle. 

We  have  no  lack  of  work. 

IE  BRAMANTE  :   No  one  has.     Julius  II.  has  not  enough 

arms,  legs,  hearts,  and  heads  to  employ  for  what  he  wishes  to 

carry     out.       Nevertheless,     Michael     Angelo    remains     the 

favourite.     Remember  that! 

RAPHAEE  (laughing)  :  Go  and  repair  )-our  cracks !     Come, 

uncle,  and  you  others,  follow  us ! 

Exit,  his  arm  under  Bramante's,  surrounded  by  his  pupils  and  his 
serving-men. 


iS8 


JULIUS  II. 

BEFORE   BOLOGNA. 

The  French  camp. — A  group  of  of&cers  ;  the  bivouac  fires  are  being  Ughted  ; 
a  party  of  men-at-arms  remain  in  the  saddle  ;  others  have  dismounted 
to  tighten  the  horses'  girths  ;  some  are  eating  snacks  with  their  fingers. 
The  fines  of  infantry  are  under  arms. — BattaUons  are  marching  to 
reach  their  posts  ;  they  are  completing  the  investment  of  the  town. 
Midnight.  The  sky  is  dark  and  moonless. — The  Grand  Master  of 
Chaumont,  Governor  of  the  Milanese,  in  full  armour,  his  helmet  on 
his  head  ;  Annibale  Bentivogho,  Lord  of  Bologna,  and  his  brother 
Hermes  Bentivogho,  similarly  armed  ;  Ives  d'Alegre,  French  captain. 

THE  GRAND  MASTER  (to  an  officer):  Have  my  orders 

been  carried  out  ? 

OFFICER:  Yes,  my  lord;  the  town  is  invested.     Not  a  rat 

can  go  in  or  out  without  our  permission. 

GRAND  MASTER:   Excellent.     Let  the  light  horse  beat 

up  the  country.     Let  everyone  remain  under  arms. 

OFFICER :  Yes,  my  Lord. 

GRAND  MASTER :  Ah,  that  old  Julius— that  old  fox !     We 

hold  him,  the  traitor !     We  shall  catch  him,  and  may  the  plague 

strike  me  dead  if  we  do  not  reduce  him  to  beg  for  mercy. 

ANNIBALE    BENTIVOGLIO:   He   does  not  deserve   it. 

Remember  how  he  betrayed  your  very  reverend  brother  the 

Cardmal  d'Amboise.     He  alone  prevented  him  from  becoming 

Pope. 

GRAND  MASTER :  Do  you  think  that  I  do  not  know  that, 

and  that  I  am  in  a  mood  to  forgive  him? 

ANNIBALE    BENTIVOGLIO:    And    from    me    he    stole 

Bologna,  where  he  has  not  a  single  friend. 

D'ALEGRE:  Not  a  single  friend.'     That  is  saying  too  much, 

Signer  Annibale.     In  your  Italian  cities,  everyone  has  a  friend 

and  a  comrade  to  help  him  in  case  of  need. 

ANNIBALE  BENTIVOGLIO :  I  tell  you  that  the  populace 

is  going  to  open  the  gates  to  us  when  it  knows  we  are  here. 

GRAND  MASTER  :  So  much  the  better.     The  King  will  be 

very  glad,  and  so  will  The  Duke  of  Ferrara.     The  least  that 

can  happen  to  Julius  II.  is  to  be  deposed  as  his  predecessor 

would  have  been  if  he  had  not  died.     Certainly,  he  was  no 

worse  than  the  present  anti-Christ. 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ANNIBALE  BENTIVOGLIO  :  He  was  better.    The  present 

Pope  dreams  of  nothing  but  the  spohation  and  massacre  of  all 

the  princes. 

GRAND  MASTER:  I  am  thinking-  it  over  ;  but  we  must  give 

the  horses  a  little  rest  and  let  the  men  eat.     (To  an  officer.) 

Give  the  order  to  dismount.     The  troops  arc  to  fall  out  after 

the  sentries  have  been  posted.     Has  Captain  Molard  arrived  ? 

OFFICER:  Fie  is  coming  in  a  moment.     Flis  companies  are 

broken  with  fatigue. 

GRAND  MASTER  :  They  are  honest  fellows  ;  let  them  have 

wine  served  them.     You  come  in  good  time,  Captain  Molard. 

Many  thanks  for  such  promptitude. 

CAPTAIN  MOLARD :  I  have  done  my  duty,  my  lord. 

GRAND   MASTER:  You  know  that  we  hold  our  Master 

Reynard. 

ANNIBALE  BENTIVOGLIO  :  We  are  going  to  cut  his  tail. 

HERMES  BENTIVOGLIO :  Or  his  throat. 

GRAND  MASTER:  What  news  do  you  bring  from  Ferrara? 

CAPTAIN  MOLARD :  Here  is  Monsignor  de  Bayard,  who 

will  give  you  some. 

GRAND  MASTER:  Good  evening,  Captain  Bayard,  welcome. 

BAYARD :  Commend  you  to  God,  my  lord,  most  devoutly. 

Here  are  some  who  are  better  men  than  I,  the  Baron  da  Conti, 

the  Baron  de  Fontrailles,  and  the  worthy  Captain  Mercurio 

with  his  two  thousand  Albanians. 

ANNIBALE  BENTIVOGLIO :  Is  it  true  that  he  ripped  up 

his  first  cousin  so  well  ? 

BAYARD :  He  had  him  cut  to  pieces  with  all  his  men,  and 

the  heads  were  carried  on  the  lance  points.     It  was  cruel, 

and  I  dislike,  these  savageries. 

D'ALEGRE :  It  is  not  war,  but  butchery. 

ANNIBALE  BENTIVOGLIO  :  It  is  vengeance.   When  one 

risks  one's  own  skin,  one  has  every  right  over  those  of  others. 

BAYARD :  I  am  too  humble  a  person  to  argue  with  so  great 

190 


JULIUS   II. 

a  lord  as  you.     For  his  part,  Captain  Mercurio  is  brave,  no 
doubt.     All  the  same,  I  had  the  looters,  who  stifled  the  poor 
inhabitants  of  Vicenza  in  a  cavern,  put  to  death  without  mercy  ; 
and  everywhere  that  marauders  come  under  my  hand  I  propose 
to  do  the  same  to  them.     But  are  we  here  to  tell  stories  ? 
GRAND    MASTER:     Not    altogether.     We    reckon    that 
to-morrow  morning  the  people  of  Bologna  will  have  delivered 
up  the  Pope  to  me.     Signor  Annibale  has  promised. 
ANNIBALE    BENTIVOGLIO:   And   I   promise  you   that 
King  Louis  is  about  to  be  relieved  of  his  excommunication, 
and  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  I  and  my  friends  also. 
OFFICER :  A  guard  reports  that  Count  Giovanni  Francesco 
Pico  presents  himself  from  the  Pope  to  speak  to  Monsignor. 
GRAND  MASTER:  Ah!  so  our  arrival  is  known,  and  the 
Holy  Father  wishes  to  avoid  the  eagerness  of  his  people  to 
fly  at  him !     Bring  in  the  Count ;  I  shall  listen  to  what  he  has 
to  say. 


191 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

IN   BOLOGNA. 

A  room  in  the  palace  where  tlie  Pope  Uves. — Julius  II.,  ill,  hall  lying  down 
in  au  armchair,  surrounded  by  cushions  which  ho  upsets  every  minute 
and  wliich  the  servants  pick  up.     Cardinal  Rcgino,  Legate  of  Bologna. 

CARDINAL  :  You  inusL  uoL  Icl  yourself  be  taken  by  those 
villainous  French. 

POPE  :  I  shall  not  let  myself  be  taken.  It  is  I  who  shall  take 
and  strangle  and  stamp  upon  my  enemies.  You  may  count 
upon  that.     Give  me  to  drink ! 

A  chamberlain  brings  him  a  glass  of  gruel. 

Ball !  it's  as  bitter  as  gall.  ...  A  glass  of  wine ! 
CHAMBERLAIN:     Holy    Father,    the     physicians    have 
expressly  forbidden  wine. 

POPE  :  What  time  did  the  couriers  go  to  send  my  messages 
to  the  Venetians  and  the  Spaniards .'' 

CARDINAL  :  Four  hours  ago,  at  the  first  news  that  come  to 
us  of  the  march  of  the  French. 

POPE  :  The  point  is  that  our  allies  should  be  here  in  time. 
Have  a  letter  written  to  the  Bishop  of  Sion  bidding  him  hasten 
his  negotiations  with  the  Swiss.  Let  as  many  of  these  bar- 
barians as  can  be  scraped  together  be  thrown  into  the  Milanese 
territory.  The  more  harm  they  do  to  Louis  XII. 's  troops,  the 
nearer  will  be  our  deliverance. 

CARDINAL  :  The  Swiss  are  honest  numskulls  ;  I  reckon  on 
them  completely.     Devoted  to   the   Church,    obedient  when 

they  are  well  paid 

THE  POPE  :  Bandits  like  the  rest !  Has  not  Count  Giovanni 
Francesco  yet  returned  ? 

CARDINAL  :  Not  yet.  He  has  a  skilful  tongue. 
POPE :  He  does  not  need  much  subtlety  to  hoodwink 
Louis  XII.  That  booby  would  fain  pass  for  a  man  of  sub- 
stance, because  he  is  coarse,  jovial,  and  weak  of  head  as  of 
heart.  As  prince,  he  betrayed  his  King  ;  as  husband  he  made 
his  first  wife,  who  was  a  saint,  as  unhappy  as  possible  ;  at 
present,  he  obeys  a  second,  who  is  a  sheer  termagant,  and  as 
for  killing  and  plundering,  there  is  no  one  who  does  that 

192 


JULIUS  II. 

more  lightly  than  he,  always  with  a  great  laugh,  and  they  say 
of  him:  "What  a  jolly  fellow!"  Poor  Italy,  poor  Italy,  to 
be  trampled  on  by  such  men!  But  the  scandal  will  not  last. 
An  end  must  be  made  of  the  princelings  and  of  those  iniquitous 
republics,  Florence,  Siena,  and  Lucca ;  thus,  we  make  use  of 
the  Aragonese,  the  French,  the  Germans,  whoever  comes  to 
hajid ,  but  finally  the  day  will  dawn  when  the  Holy  Church, 
master  of  all,  will  shut  up  these  wretches  under  a  double  key 
in  the  wastes  which  heaven  has  assigned  as  their  country. 
CARDINAL  :  The  fact  is  that  your  Holiness  has  prepared 
everything  marvellously  well :  Henry  VIII.  let  loose  upon  the 
coasts  of  France  ;  Ferdinand  threatening  the  Pyrenees. 
JULIUS  II. :  And  all  the  time  I  am  treating  with  Louis. 
While  I  smite  and  harass  him,  I  play  with  him  and  let  him 
think  that  we  can  come  to  an  understanding  ;  with  one  hand  I 
excommunicate  him — him  and  his  allies,  the  ruffians !  and  with 
the  other  I  caress  him  I  ...  I  shall  destroy  him ! 
CARDINAL  :  And  here  are  fifteen  thousand  Swiss  going  to 
arrive. 

JULIUS  II. :  And  my  nephew,  Marc-Antonio  Colonna,  has 
got  together  an  army  ;  I  have  raised  another  for  my  Francesco 
Maria  d'Urbino.  .  .  .  All  is  going  fairly  well.  .  .  .  Yes,  but  if 
presently  the  French  take  me  by  surprise,  it  will  be  an  accident 
that  might  spoil  our  game  completely!  I  came  here  a  trifle 
hot-headedly. 

CARDINAL  :  A  little  imprudently,  perhaps. 
JULIUS  II. :  Where  is  the  time  to  be  prudent?      I  must  act 
quickly  in  order  to  accomplish  much.     If  I  am  not  to  count 
upon  my  good  luck,  it  were  as  well  not  to  interfere  with  any- 
thing.    Go  and  see  if  the  Count  is  not  coming  back. 


R  2  193 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BEFORE    BOLOGNA. 

A  winter  night,  dark  and  cold  ;  day  is  beginning  to  dawn. — A  peasant's 
house  ;  I'rencli  troops  encamped  around.  Great  bustle  of  patrols  of 
infantry  and  ca\  airy  ;  pickets  and  sentries  everywhere.  The  town 
is  invested.  T,ij^lits  are  seen  in  the  higher  stories  of  some  houses 
that  commantl  the  rampart. — Near  a  big  lire,  a  table  between  them, 
the  Grand  Master  of  Chaumont  and  Count  Giovanni  Francesco  Pico. 

COUNT :  Well  Monsignor,  I  will  admit  what  you  say. 
The  Holy  Father  did  not  show  himself  so  faithful  as  he 
should  have  done  to  the  League  of  Cambray.  There  are 
many  points  to  object  to,  but  of  them  we  will  not  speak. 
The  Holy  Father,  I   agree,  abandoned  the  Most   Christian 

King  after  the  battle  of  Agnadello  ;  he 

GRAND  MASTER :   He  made  an  alliance  with  our  worst 

enemies,  the  Venetians  ;   he  tore  them  from  our  hands  when 

we,   thinking  them  half-dead,  were  about  to  deliver  a  final 

blow  ;  he  detached  the  Emperor  from  our  side  ;  he  is  stirring 

up  the  Swiss  to  attack  us  ;  in  short,  he  does  us  all  the  mischief 

that  he  can.     He  shall  be  chastised !     And,  by  the  death  of 

Christ,  let  him  give  himself  up  with' out  so  much  chaffering. 

COUNT  :  How  should  he  do  otherwise  ?  .  .  .  When  you  have 

him,  what  will  you  do  with  him? 

GRAND  MASTER :  A  strong  prison !     Do  you  think  there 

are  none  such?  and,  later  on,  he'll  be  deposed,  as  he  richly 

deserves ! 

COUNT:  You  are  hard.     The  Pope  in  prison?     What  will 

Christendom  say  and  do?     And  you,  Monsignor,  the  hero  of 

this  fine  scandal,  will  you  take  upon  yourself  to  give  the 

Queen,  whose  piety  is  so  well-known,  the  absolutions  that  the 

humblest  priest  will  refuse  her  ? 

GRAND   MASTER:    The   devil!     Do  you   think   you   are 

frightening  me  ? 

COUNT :  I  only  wish  to  open  your  eyes.     What  would  you 

say   if   I   brought   you    a    Pope   who,   instead   of    being   an 

embarrassing  prisoner,  proved  a  devoted  friend  ? 

GRAND  MASTER :  You  take  me  for  a  fool.     Your  devoted 

194 


JULIUS   11. 

friend — who  robbed  my  brother  of  the  tiara !  Do  you  think 
that  is  one  of  those  actions  that  one  forgives  ? 
COUNT:  True,  but  I  only  wanted  to  remind  you  of  this 
axiom:  that  when  you  wish  to  serve  both  your  master  and 
yourself  equally  well,  you  nearly  always  go  wrong.  I  offer 
you  an  understanding,  I  declare  to  }'ou  that  we  can  reach  one 
to  your  very  great  advantage.  You  refuse,  very  well ;  but 
observe  that  you  refuse. 

GRAND  MASTER :  I  refuse  nothing.  I  only  say,  and  I 
repeat,  that  one  cannot  place  the  slightest  confidence  in  you. 
.  .  .  Ah,  if  you  were  a  different  sort  of  people !  .  .  .  then  .  .  . 
COUNT  :  Listen,  for  example,  to  what  I  should  propose  to 
you.  .  .  .  Withdrawal  of  the  ban  of  exconmiunication  against 
you  and  your  allies.  .  .  .  Alfonso  d'Este  once  more  recognised 
as  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  restored  to  his  post  of  Gonfalonier  of 
the  Holy  Church.  .  .  .  Would  not  that  be  a  good  start  ?  We 
should  abandon  the  Venetians.  .  .  .  You  yourself  would 
receive  a  hundred  thousand  crowns.  .  .  .  Would  an  under- 
standing be  possible  upon  such  terms? 

GRAND  MASTER:  One  must  remember  that  you  are 
notorious  rogues  .  .  .  otherwise,  do  you  imagine  that  for  the 

small  pleasure  of  giving  myself  such  trouble,  I  should 

COUNT :    I    make   you    the   formal   proposal   in   the    Holy 

Father's  name ! 

GRAND  MASTER  :  Have  you  plenary  powers? 

COUNT  :  Here  they  are. 

GRAND  MASTER  :  That  would  not  be  enough  for  me. 

COUNT  :  Body  of  Bacchus!  you  are  hard  to  deal  with. 

GRAND  ]\IASTER  :    I  also  require  the  re-instatemcnt  of 

Signor  Annibale  Bentivoglio  in  his  town  of  Bologna,  and  a 

clause  that  the  Pope  shall  renounce  the  Romagna. 

COUNT  :   I  frankly  confess  to  you  that  on  these  matters  I 

have  no  instructions,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  Holy  Father 

will  not  wish  to  have  them  broached. 

GRAND  MASTER :  You  arc  joking!     If  he  refuses,  I  close 

195 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

my  fist.  Is  he  not  caught  ?  Has  he  the  liberty  of  saying  "  yes  " 
or  "no"  ? 

COUNT  :  Perhaps  we  shall  submit  to  every  possible  hard- 
ship ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  His  Holiness  will  renounce  either 
Bologna  or  the  Romagna. 

GRAND  MASTER:  Then,  to-morrow  at  dawn,  I  shall  break 
in  your  doors  and  put  my  hand  on  your  man. 
COUNT  :  You  are  really  decided  ? 

GRAND  MASTER:  If  you  knew  me  better,  you  would 
disp)ense  with  that  question. 

COUNT :  In  that  case,  and  in  the  presence  of  force,  I  yield 
GRAND  MASTER  (laughing) :  You  do  well.  .  .  .  Believe 
me,  and  now  that  we  are  friends,  your  master  will  at  once 
open  me  the  doors.  I  am  eager  to  embrace  him. 
COUNT :  But  in  that  case  he  would  be  your  prisoner  under 
another  name. 

GRAND  MASTER  (laughing) :  Take  it  as  you  will ;  I  shall 
not  abate  that  condition. 

COUNT  :  We  are  in  a  serious  dilemma     I  am  going  to  report 
your  words  to  the  Holy  Father.     He  w^ill  decide.  .  .  . 
GRAND    MASTER:    Offer  him   my  respects    as   from    a 
submissive  son  of  the  Church. 

COUNT  :  Now  come,  Monsigneur  de  Chaumont,  could  you 
not  be  less  hard  ? 

GRAND  MASTER:   I  am  only  taking  precautions.     Your 
master  will  recognise  my  intentions  as  better  than  he  thought. 
You  said  three  hundred  thousand  crowns  of  gold  ? 
COUNT  :  I  said  two  hundred. 

GRAND  :.IASTER  :  It  will  be  three  hundred,  if  you  please. 
When  will  you  return  ? 
COUNT  :  Give  me  until  midnight. 

GRAND  MASTER :  Impossible!     You  shall  have  two  hours 
— not  a  minute  more.     We  have  already  lost  a  deal  of  time  in 
talking. 
COUNT:    My   lord,    my   lord,    I    entreat    you.  .  .    We    will 

196 


JULIUS   11. 

give  the  three  hundred  thousand  crowns!  but  do  not  bring 
rakings-up  of  personal  animosities  into  this  affair ! 
GRAND  MASTER  :  Just  now,  you  threatened  me  indirectly 
with  the  Queen.  .  .  .  You  shall  see  if  I  am  intimidated !  .  .  . 
Come,  Count,  take  heart  of  grace !  I'll  grant  you  all  the  time 
you  ask  for,  and  two  hours  more  into  the  bargain.  Am  I  such 
a  fiend  ? 

COUNT:  Thanks.  The  Holy  Father  will  appreciate  what 
he  owes  you.  None  the  less  we  are  in  a  horrible  position. 
GRAND  MASTER:  Come,  come,  don't  be  downcast.  Our 
alliance  is  well  worth  that  of  Venice.  You  lose  the  Romagna 
by  it,  but  who  knows  if  you  will  not  gain  something  else? 
You  must  not  shake  your  head  with  that  despondent  look. 
Farewell ;  always  remain  cheerful. 

COUNT  :  Farewell,  my  Lord.     I  shall  keep  the  appointment. 

Exit. 

GRAND  MASTER  (alone)  :  At  bottom,  he  was  not  altogether 
wrong.  Madam  Arme  is  not  tender  in  the  matter  of  affections, 
and  moreover,  after  my  brother's  death,  my  position  is  less 
secure.  .  .  .  True,  the  King  is  furious  with  the  Pope  and 
wishes  to  crush  him  at  all  costs.  .  .  .  Three  hundred  thousand 
golden  crowns  are  an  excellent  thing  to  have,  especially  when 
the  result  is  of  a  sort  to  satisfy  the  King  and  not  annoy  the 
Queen.  .  .  .  Julius  will  try  to  overreach  me  .  .  .  but  ...  it 
is  not  lil<ely  that  I  shall  let  myself  be  bamboozled  by  these 

false-tongued  Italians.  ...  I  know  them,  thank  God,  and 

D'ALEGRE :   You  had  the  intention  of  visiting  the  posts, 

Monsignor. 

GRAND  MASTER  :  I  was  just  going  to  send  for  you.    Come ! 


197 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Near  a  bivouac  fire. — Captain  Bayard,  the  bastard  du  Fay,  standard- 
bearer  cf  his  artillery  company  ;  Captain  Molard,  Captain  Sucker, 
leaders  of  Trench  and  German  nu  iceuaries  ;  Captain  Jacob  Zemberg, 
commander  of  tlie  Swiss.  A  rough  table  is  drawn  up  near  the  fire 
and  loaded  with  hams,  sausages,  chickens,  bottles  and  cups  of  pewter, 
tin,  horn,  or  wood.  The  guests  are  seated  on  benches  and  stools, 
which  have  been  snatched  from  the  huts.  Around  the  table,  a  wind- 
screen constnicted  by  the  soldiers  by  means  of  cloaks  piled  on  poles. 
Pinewood  torches  burning  at  the  end  of  long  stakes  planted  in  the 
earth.     The  ofiicers  are  supping,  waited  on  by  pages  and  lackeys. 

SUCKER  :  In  war,  I  think  nothing  but  valour  of  consequence. 
For  the  rest  I  care  but  httle. 

BAYARD:  In  that,  my  friend,  you  do  not  show  yourself 
particularly  wise.  I  think  valour  of  consequence,  but  discre- 
tion just  as  much,  because  with  discretion  we  have  discipline, 
of  which  too  little  has  been  seen  in  our  armies  up  to  the  present. 
CAPTAIN  MOLARD:  When  one  of  my  men  plays  the 
devil,  I  play  the  Satan,  and  he  does  not  come  back.  Believe 
me,  Monseigneur  de  Sucker,  we  should  abandon  the  old  savage 
methods  of  plundering,  burning  and  massacring.  These  are 
follies  which  ruin  their  authors.  I  am  of  Mgr.  de  Bayard's 
opinion. 

BAYARD :  Here  is  a  fine-looking  joint,  .and  it  comes  very 
useful  after  so  long  a  ride  as  that  of  to-day.  Since  Mgr.  de 
Molard  is  willing  to  approve  my  little  bit  of  wisdom,  I  will 
tell  you  that  since  my  entering  on  the  Italian  wars,  that  is 
since  1494,  or  something  like  seventeen  years,  I  have  seen 
many  notable  changes. 

DU  FAY:  I  have  not  long  borne  your  standard,  my  Lord, 
yet  I,  too,  have  seen  changes. 

BAYARD :  When  we  came  with  King  Charles,  of  victorious 
memory,  we  were  like  good  peasants,  marching  from  our 
villages,  clumsy,  badly  drilled ;  and  the  Italians  made  fun  of 
us  as  we  to-day  make  fun  of  our  Landsknechts,  who  appear 
rustic  to  us,  if  I  may  say  so  without  offence  to  you,  Monsieur 
Sucker. 

SUCKER  :  In  Germany  we  have  greater  scholars  than  yours ! 
The  Italians,  who  raise  their  heads  so  high,  are  not  ashamed 

198 


JULIUS   II. 

to  apply  to  us  for  architects.  We  built  them  their  Cathedral 
of  Milan,  and  our  painters,  such  as  Albrecht  Diirer,  give  them 
lessons. 

BAYARD :  So  you  see  how  right  I  am  in  saying  that  there 
have  been  many  novelties  in  the  last  few  years.  At  the  time 
of  the  battle  of  Fornovo,  you  would  never  have  heard,  at  a 
bivouac,  a  captain  of  Landsknechts  boasting  of  architects  and 
painters!  They  thought  then  of  nothing  but  wine,  women, 
plunder,  and  pictures  and  statues  were  only  fit  to  be  hacked 
to  pieces. 

DU  FAY :  It's  true !  To-day,  we  regard  those  who  do  so  as 
savages  and  brutes  ;  they  are  only  the  newcomers  from  France. 
At  the  end  of  six  months'  stay,  one  begins  to  take  pleasure 
in  these  beautiful  things,  and  to  become  refined. 
BAYARD  :  There  is  another  point ;  in  those  days,  not  for 
gold  or  silver  could  you  have  persuaded  a  man-at-arms  to 
fight.  Now  I  know  none  braver  than  Signor  Alviane,  Signor 
Andrea  Gritti,  and  many  others.  .  .  . 

CAPTAIN  MOLARD  :  And  Pope  Julius  II. 

Laughter, 

BAYARD :   True.  ...  I   should  like  to  see   the   day  when 

there'll  be  fighting  only  among  men  of  war,  and  no  more 

harrying  of  these  poor  townsmen  and  countryfolk ;  they  can 

no  longer  endure  the  strifes  of  princes. 

ZEMBERG  :  There's  a  terrible  draught  coming  through  these 

cloaks!     My  feet  are  frozen!     Scoundrels,  can't  you  arrange 

that  construction  a  trifle  better?     I'll  punch  your  heads,  you 

rapscallions. 

Enter  the  Grand  Master  of  Chaumont,  Yves  d'AKgre,  officers,  men- 
at-arms. 

GRAND     MASTER  -.     Good-evening    and    good-morning, 

captains !     Have  you  a  finger  of  wine  to  give  me  ?     Thanks, 

Monseigncur  de  Bayard  !     To  your  health,  gentlemen  ! 

BAYARD:  To  yours,  my  lord,  and  may  heaven  grant  what 

your  noble  heart  desires ! 

All  drink. 
199 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

GRAND  MASTER :  The  Pope  did  not  try  to  fly  from  your 

side? 

BAYARD  :  If  he  does  not  escape  from  yours,  be  assured  that 

he  won't  from  mine.  Laughter. 


IN    BOLOGNA. 
A    street    near    San    Petronio. — j\Ioriiing ;    crowd    of    people,    artisans 
merchants,  nobles,  soldiers. 

BUTCHER :  If  it  only  needs  a  push  to  turn  the  Pope  out, 
give  it  him !     Long  live  the  Bentivoglio  ! 
CROWD:  Long  live  the  Bentivoglio!     Long  live  Bologna! 
Liberty  I 

Enter    Francia    and    his    pupils.     Francesco    Caccianimici,    Amico 
Aspertino,  painters. 

Long  live  the  school  of  Bologna!     Down  with  the  Romans! 

A  BAKER :  Master  Francia,  what  do  you  say  to  all  this  ? 

FRANCIA :  I  say  that  Michael  Angelo  is  an  insolent  fellow, 

and  his  master  is  no  better  than  he.    Long  live  the  Bentivoglio ! 

CROWD  :  Long  live  Bologna! 

CACCIANIMICI:   Yes,  my  children!     Long  live  Bologna! 

Is  this  beautiful  city  less  worthy  of  being  free  than  Florence, 

than  Lucca  and  so  many  other  cities  ? 

CROWD  :  No !  no !  Long  live  Bologna!  and  the  Bentivoglio! 

AMICO  ASPERTINO  :  Everyone  in  his  own  home !     A  free 

city !     No  subjection ! 

CROWD:   Liberty!     Liberty!     Long  live  the  Bentivoglio! 

BAKER :  We  need  a  prince  who  spends  our  money  and  his 

in  our  city,  and  not  elsewhere!     Who  builds  churches  and 

palaces  for  us,  and  not  for  the  Romans !     Long  live  Bologna ! 

CROWD:    Long    live   the   Bentivoglio!     Liberty!    liberty! 

To  the  palace !     Down  with  the  Pope ! 

ASPERTINO  :  Let  us  go  and  break  the  statue  of  Michael 

Angelo  !     What  say  you ! 

CROWD  :  Down  with  the  statue ! 

CACCIANIMICI:  Yes!  let  us  go! 

All  the  crowd  follows  him,  uttering  loud  shouts. 


200 


JULIUS   II. 

THE   PALACE. 

Julius  II.,  in  his  armchair,  stick  in  hand  ;  the  Cardinal  of  Pa  via,  the  Cardinal 
Regino,  the  Bishop  of  Gurck,  Michael  Angelo,  the  Count  Giovanni 
Francesco  Pico. 

JULIUS  II. :    This  insurrection  is  still  raging  ?     They're  still 

shouting  ?     Are  you  mad,  Regino  ?     Have  I  not  already  given 

orders  ? 

REGINO  :  Holy  Father,  the  Swiss  charged  twice  and  were 

repulsed. 

JULIUS  II.:    Cavalry  and  two  bombards!     Run!     If  the 

noise  lasts,  I  shall  go  myself. 

Exit  Cardinal  Regino. 

He  is  a  little  weak,  poor  man.     Count  Pico,  )'ou  will  return  to 

M.  de  Chaumont,  although  it  J5  not  yet  time  to  give  him  an 

answer. 

COUNT:  Yes,  Holy  Father. 

JULIUS  II. :  You  will  tell  him  that  I  consent  to  everything, 

not    being    in    a    position    to    discuss    anything,    and    that 

in   proof  of   my   good   faith,    I    beg    him   to   send   me    the 

treaty  in  the  form  and  spirit  that  he  will  understand.     You 

will  be  careful  to  complain  against  every  article  and  to  prolong 

the  whole  interview.     Then  you  will  bring  me  the  treaty  to 

sign.     In  this  way  we  have  till  this  evening  before  us,  and 

even  till  to-morrow  morning,  if  we  wish 

COUNT    (aside) :    Does    your    Holiness    know    where    the 

Spaniards  are  ...  or  the  Venetians  ? 

JULIUS   II. :    They  will  both  arrive   about  half-past  one. 

Wheedle  your  Grand  i\Iaster,  detain  him ;  try  and  see  that  he 

does  not  go.     I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  surprising  him  in 

my  turn,  enveloping  him,  pressing  him,  and  they'll  see  what 

I  shall  do  with  this  ultramontane  scoundrel  who  dares  to  lay 

his  base  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ !  .  .  .  Go, 

my  child ! 

Count  Pico  kneels  ;  the  Pope  blesses  him  brusquely. 
Come,  now,  Michael  Angelo,  where  arc  your  designs  for 
fortresses  ? 

201 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Here  they  are,  Holy  Father. 
POPE  :  Go  to  the  spot,  trace  me  the  foundations  immediately, 
and  begin  work.     I  also  need  mines,  and  from  to-day  you  will 
see  to  the  installalion  of  the  cannon  foundries  of  which  you 
showed  me  the  plan. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  If  I  play  the  engineer  and  the 
founder,  1  cannot  play  the  sculptor  and  the  painter.  You  will 
complain  very  soon  that  the  works  of  the  Sistine  and  the 
statues  of  your  tomb  are  not  advancing. 

JULIUS  II.  (striking  his  stick  on  the  ground):  Certainly,  1 
shall  complain,  and  I  have  only  too  good  reason  to  complain. 
Idlers  that  you  are !  Instead  of  wearying  me  with  your  remarks 
you  should  already  have  finished  your  task !     Go ! 

Exit  Michael  Angelo. 

Cardinal  of  Pavia,  did  you  not  just  tell  me  that  the  Emperor 
desired  to  be  Pope  in  my  place,  and  took  the  title  of  Pontifex 
Maximus  ? 

CARDINAL  OF  PAVIA:  Yes,  Holy  Father;  Louis  XII. 
put  this  folly  into  his  ear. 

JULIUS  II. :  It  is  an  impertinence.  I  command  the  secre- 
taries of  the  briefs  henceforth  to  entitle  me  "  Ca?sar."  I  am 
universal  Em.pcror  by  right  as  representing  God  on  earth. 

A  discharge  of  artillery  is  heard. 

Good !    Here  are  the  Bolognese  getting  my  grapeshot  in  their 

legs. 

Several  prelates  and  bishops  approach  and  make  a  profound  obeisance. 

What  do  you  want  ? 

A  BISHOP  :  Your  Holiness'  person  is  in  terrible  danger.  The 
French,  the  people,  all  are  threatening  you.  Is  it  not  a  time 
for  prudence  and  moderation  ?  I  am  impelled  to  use  such 
language  to  you,  Holy  Father,  by  our  venerable  brethen  here 
present.  .  .  .  Consider  how  your  health  is  seriously  affected, 
and  how  besides,  we  are  defenceless  old  men,  and  if  we  must 
submit  to  the  outrages  of  the  soldiery  or  those  of  the  rebel 

populace 

JULIUS  II.:  What  does  this  imbecile  want?     What  means 

202 


JULIUS   II. 

all  this  verbiage  ?  .  .  .  Call  m)-  bearers ;  I  want  to  be  hoisted 
to  the  top  of  the  cathedral  so  as  to  see  what  is  passing  in  the 
country.  But  no  .  .  .  wait  .  .  .  Cardinal  of  Pavia,  give  me 
your  arm.  .  .  .  You  here,  Captain,  approach.  .  .  .  Your  arm ! 
Oh,  I  can  walk  !     Come ! 


ROME. 


At  the  house  of  Janus  Corycius  of  Luxemburg^. — A  large  room  with  a 
ceiUng  painted  vdth.  a  mythological  subject  ;  frescoes  on  the  walls  ; 
mosaic  pavements  ;  great  vases  full  of  flowers,  the  windows  open  out 
upon  a  garden,  and,  in  the  background,  one  sees  the  houses  of  a 
quarter  of  the  town  embowered  in  trees. — Agostino  Chigi  and  his 
brother  Sigismondo  Chigi,  priest ;  il  Bramante  ;  Bernardo  da  Bibbiena; 
rimperia  ;  Raphael ;  the  clironologer  Bartolomraeo  Turini  da  Pescia  ; 
Giacomo  Sansecondo,  the  musician  ;  other  guests. — .\11  the  company 
is  spread  in  groups  over  the  vast  room,  some  standing,  laughing  and 
talking,  others  sitting  on  arm-chairs,  folding  seats  or  cusliions. 

IL  BRAMANTE  (to  Raphael)  :  Leave  Madam  Imperia  for 
a  moment,  and  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  of  Michael 
Angelo. 

RAPHAEL  :  Let  me  amuse  myself  for  a  moment.  I  am  dead 
with  fatigue  and  dulled  with  work.  If  Michael  Angelo 
intrigues  against  me,  you  play  the  devil  against  him — so  we 
are  quits. 

IL  BRAMANTE  :  I  think  that  your  lightness  of  heart  is  at 
least  equal  to  your  talent.  ]\Iichael  Angelo  says  everywhere 
that  what  you  know  you  have  learnt  from  him. 
RAPHAEL  :  True,  he  taught  me  something :  but  I  do  not 
think  he  lends  countenance  to  the  folly  you  attribute  to  him. 
He  is  a  man  of  fierce  temper,  but  not  a  knave.  After  all,  he 
is  at  Bologna  with  the  Pope ;  let  us  leave  him  in  peace.  He 
offered  incredible  insults  to  Master  Francia,  my  friend,  who 
cannot  pardon  them. 

IL  BRAMANTE:  Unhappily,  the  Buonarotti  is  all-powerful 
with  the  Holy  Father,  and  as  he  does  not  miss  a  single  occa- 
sion of  damaging  you,  there  will  come  a  day  when  .... 
RAPHAEL  (impatiently) :   There  will  come  a  day  when,  by 

203 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

virtue  of  setting  us  one  against  the  other,  llie  best  friends  of 

each  of  us  will  have  turned  us  to  deadly  enemies.     That  would 

be  disgraceful,  and  I  shall  resist  it  so  far  as  I  can. 

IL  BRAMANTE  -.  I  could  have  wished  them  at  least  to  give 

you  half  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  to  do.   But  Micliael  Angelo 

gets  ever)'thing ! 

RAPHAEL  :  Have  you  no  more  to  say  to  me? 

IL  BRAMANTE  :   Go  and  amuse  yourself,  as  you  have  na 

blood  in  your  veins. 

RAPHAEL  :  I  cannot  be  angry  with  anyone,  especially  with 

a  man  I  admire.     Have  I  not  more  work  than  strength  to 

accomplish  it  ? 

JANUS  CORYCIUS  :   Master  Raphael,  have  you  seen  the 

group  of  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  and  Saint  Anne  executed  for 

me   by   Master   Andrea   Sansovino,    in    the    Church    of    St. 

Augustine  ? 

RAPHAEL  :    I  admired  it  to-day  myself ;   it  is  one  of  the 

finest  works  of  our  time.     I  do  not  forget  that  you  want  from 

me  a  portrait  in  that  same  church. 

JANUS  CORYCIUS  :  I  entreat  you,  Master  Raphael,  reahse 

your  fine  promises  ;  when  will  you  begin  ? 

RAPHAEL  :  Listen !     I  will  do  a  sibyl  with  a  laurel-wreath 

about  her  head.     Does  that  satisfy  you  ? 

JANUS  CORYCIUS  :  Yes,  but  will  it  be  a  young  or  an  old 

sibyl  ? 

BIBBIENA :  Note,  dear  Raphael,  that  Signor  Corycius  has 

a  passion  for  beauty. 

RAPHAEL :  My  sibyl  is  the  most  lovable  being  that  Nature 

has  created,  or  the  mind  can  conceive.  .  .  .  But  here  is  the 

very  reverend  Cardinal  Giovanni  de'  Medici. 

Enter  the  Cardinal.     He  embraces  Raphael. 

CARDINAL  :  I  love  you  as  if  you  were  the  child  of  my  loins, 
and  so  well  that  I  am  almost  jealous  of  your  friendship  for  the 
Signor  da  Bibbiena. 

BIBBIENA  :  Monsignor  Raphael  loves  so  many  things  and  so 
many  people,  and  has  a  heart  so  richly  endowed  with  every 

204 


JULIUS   11. 

eiifectionate  impulse  tliat  there  is  no  need    to   dispute  his 

friendship. 

SIGISMONDO   CHIGI:    For  my  part,  I  ask  him  at  this 

moment  the  right  to  thank  him  for  having  placed  in  his  picture 

of  the   Theology  the  figure  of  the  great,  the   sainted,   the 

venerable  martyr,  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola.     A  day  will  come 

when  all  the  world  will  do  justice  to  this  great  man,  and  I 

bless  Master  Raphael  for  having  been  one  of  the  first  to  prepare 

his  triumph. 

RAPHAEL  :  This  merit  does  not  belong  to  me.     It  belongs 

entirely  to  Signor  Count  Balthazar  Castiglione  and  my  other 

guide,  Ludovico  Ariosto ;  both  gave  me  advice  on  the  saints 

and  wise  doctors  whom  I  should  introduce  into  my  compositiort 

IMPERIA :   Most  reverend  Signor  Cardinal,  have  you  only 

eyes  to-day  for  Signor  Raphael  ? 

CARDINAL  :  Ah,  Madam,  how  sorry  I  am.    I  have  such  bad 

eyes,  in  fact !     I  had  not  yet  caught  sight  of  you. 

IMPERIA :    Do  not  put  yourself  out,  IMonsignor ;   only,  do 

not  prevent  Giacomo  from  singing.     You  see,  he  is  tuning  his 

lute. 

CARDINAL  :  Will  you  not  allow  me,  cruel  that  you  are,  to 

sit  at  least  a  minute  next  to  you  ? 

IMPERIA :    Ah,  Monsignor,  you  think  only  of  statues,  of 

pictures,  and  of  books. 

CARDINAL  :  And  never  of  the  living  Aphrodite  ? 

They   talk  in   a   low   voice.       Sansecondo   begins   to   sing.      Enter 
Michael  Angelo. 

JANUS  CORYCIUS  =  Welcome,  Signor  Buonarotti. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Do  not  put  )'ourself  out.  My  mission 
once  fulfilled,  I  shall  retire.  I  salute  the  most  reverend 
Cardinal.  Good  evening.  Master  Raphael.  The  Holy 
Father  sends  me  from  Bologna  expressly  notifying  Mgr.  da 
Bibbiena  to  be  in  readiness  to  rejoin  him  instantly.  .  .  .  He 
said  instantly,  without  losing  a  second. 
CARDINAL  :  What  has  happened,  then  ? 

205 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:    The  French   and  the  Bentivoglio 

surprised  us  at  Bologna.  .  .  . 

ALL  :  Great  God !     The  Pope  is  a  prisoner. 

MICHAEL    ANGELO:    He    trilled   with   the    French,   he 

cruslicd  the  Bolognese.     The  Venetians  and  the  Spaniards 

had  time  to  liurry  to  our  aid ;    the  French  fled    to  Milan. 

My  Lord  Bibbiena,  are  you  coming!     I  must  return,  without 

wasting  an  hour,  to  direct  the  siege  of  La  Mirandola. 

THE    CHRONOLOGER   BARTOLOMMEO    TURIN!: 

The  Pope  is  not  coming  back  here  ? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :   After  La  Mirandola,  we  shall  take 

Fenara  ;  then,  we  shall  see.     Let  us  go. 

JANUS  CORYCIUS  :  What  a  man  the  Pope  is— at  his  age ! 

AGOSTINI  CHIGI :  He!    He  has  no  age;  he  is  purely  an 

inextinguishable  fire  of  energy.     From  this  fire  come  whirls 

of  flame,  of  sparks  and  of  smoke. 

CARDINAL  :  And  volcanic  explosions !     I  pity  the  poor  city 

of    La    Mirandola    and    the    unhappy    Countess    Francesca 

Trivulzio.     She  will  be  put  outside  with  her  children,  like  a 

beggar.     Go,  my  Lord  Bibbiena,  the  Pope  does  not  care  to 

wait. 

BIBBIENA:    I  follow  you,  Master  Michael  Angelo.     Good 

evening,  Raphael,  my  boy ;  enjoy  yourself ! 

RAPHAEL :    I   shall  do  my  best.     Good-evening,   Master 

Buonarotti ;  give  me  your  hand. 

MICHAEL   ANGELO:    When   I   return!     Good   evening, 

Monsignor  and  gentlemen. 

Exeunt  he  and  Bibbiena. 

IMPERIA  :  What  a  disagreeable  man ! 

JANUS  CORYCIUS:  Let  us  begin  merrymaking!    Supper 

is  ready. 


206 


JULIUS  U. 


LA  MIRANDOLA. 

A  room  in  the  castle.  The  Countess  Francesca  Trivulzio,  her  children, 
her  waiting-women,  officers  of  the  garrison  ;  an  envoy  from  the  Duke 
of  Urbino,  commander  of  the  troops  of  the  Church. 

COUNTESS :    I  have  given  my  answer,  Sir.     I  shall  not 
restore  my  city  to  the  Holy  Father.     It  is  the  patrimony  of 
my  children.     I  stand  up  for  their  rights  and  for  justice. 
ENVOY :  Madam,  Mgr.  the  Duke  of  Urbino  has  good  artillery 
and  more  troops  than  you.     If  you  compel  him  to  make  an 
assault,  he  will  not  answer  for  the  consequences. 
COUNTESS  :  I  am  the  daughter  of  Gian  Giacomo  Trivulzio  ; 
my  blood  is  not  chilled  by  threats.     You  have  my  last  word. 
Return  to  your  master. 
ENVOY:  Madam,  deign  to  consider.  .  .  . 
COUNTESS :  Show  this  captain  out. 


MILAN. 


The  Ducal  palace. — Gaston  de  Foix,  Duke  of  Nemours,  captain-general 
of  the  French  troops  in  Italy ;  the  Grand  Master  of  Chaumont, 
Governor  of  the  Milanese  ;  the  Seigneur  de  Clermont-Montoison, 
commander  of  the  Fieuch  auxiliaries  given  to  the  Duke  of  Ferrara  ; 
the  Prince  of  Anhalt,  general  of  the  Emperor's  troops  ;  Louis  de 
Brezc,  grand  seneschal  of  Normandy,  commander  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  King's  household  ;  the  Captains  Ives  d'Alogre,  Bonnet, 
Maugiron  ;  the  bastard  of  Cleves  and  other  officers.     Council  of  war. 

GASTON  DE  FOIX:  My  Lords  and  Captains,  it  is  the 
desire  of  the  King  not  to  drag  matters  out.  He  intends  to 
put  an  end  to  the  enterprises  of  Pope  Julius  II.  This  so-called 
Pontiff,  harsher  to  Christian  princes  than  if  he  were  the  Turk, 
wants  to  despoil  everyone  of  his  property  and  enrich  himself 

s  20; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

at  the  expense  of  all.  Nefariously  allied  to  the  Spaniards, 
who  are  treachery  itself,  and  to  the  Venetians,  who  might 
be  named  the  fathers  of  lies,  this  self-styled  Holy  Father  does 
not  conceal  his  desire  of  sending  us  back  across  the  Alps, 
by  robbing  us  of  the  Milanese.  He  wishes  to  take  all,  to 
keep  all.  In  this  laudable  design,  arousing  the  Turk  against 
the  Emperor  and  the  English  against  us,  he  causes  the 
Atlantic  coast  and  the  plains  of  Hungar)'  to  be  ravaged  at 
once.  Hitherto  we  have  done  our  best  to  temporise,  and  have 
opposed  all  these  tornadoes  by  patience  and  gentleness.  Pro- 
ceeding b}'  the  way  of  reason,  we  assembled  a  council,  few 
in  numbers,  it  is  true,  but  composed  of  doctors  most  worthy 
of  trust.  Julius  II.  did  not  scruple  to  raise  the  populace  of 
Pisa  against  this  holy  assembly,  which  we  had  to  transfer 
hither  so  as  to  make  it  secure.  Henceforth,  it  is  palpable  that 
only  a  v>'ar  to  the  knife  can  satisfy  the  spite  of  the  Pope. 
Accordingly,  I  repeat,  we  shall  no  longer  spare  anything,  and 
the  King  desires  that  results  should  come  speedily.  That  is 
why  I  have  called  you  together.  So  be  pleased  to  inform  me, 
my  Lords  and  Captains,  whether  your  troops  are  prepared 
to  take  the  field,  and  what  you  think  of  the  situation  we  are  in. 
D'ALEGRE  :  Since  so  many  Seigneurs  more  notable  than  I 
do  not  breathe  a  word,  I  embolden  myself  to  show  you 
again  that  if  you  intend  to  fight,  it  must  be  done  well,  stoutly, 
vigorously,  without  losing  a  minute,  for  the  enemy  you  have 
in  mind  is  one  who  has  kept  and  will  keep  your  hands  full. 
When  Mgr.  the  Grand  Master  failed  to  take  him  at  Bologna, 
the  next  day  he  was  in  the  field  like  a  needy  adventurer  of 
twenty.  Captain  Bayard  set  off  on  his  track  to  surprise  him  ; 
he  did  not  succeed,  and  Julius  II.,  with  his  own  hands,  helped 
to  raise  the  drawbridge  of  the  castle  of  San  Felice,  which 
preserved  him  from  our  doughty  knight.     Now,  this  terrible 

208 


JULIUS   II. 

adversar}''  must  be  in  person  before  La  Mirandola.  His  nephew, 
the  Duke  of  Urbino,  has  taken  La  Concordia ;  the  Spaniards 
with  the  Viceroy  Don  Rairaondo  of  Cardona  and  an  admirable 
infantry  are  advancing  against  us  ;  the  Venetians  threaten 
Brescia  and,  as  they  have  powerful  accomplices  there,  I  believe 
they  wiU  take  it.  Finally,  the  Swiss  are  gathering  up  there, 
on  the  mountains  above  our  heads,  and  the  Pope,  with  money 
as  a  lever,  will  roll  them  down  on  us.  So  let  us  make  haste, 
and  if  we  wish  to  save  Ferrara,  let  us  take  Bologna. 
DE  BREZE  :  You  argue  to  the  point,  Captain  d'Alegre  ;  but 
Bologna  is  not  easy  to  take.  The  Cardinal  Regino  has  been 
replaced  by  the  Cardinal  of  Pavia ;  he  is  a  soldier  who  will 
not  let  himself  be  captured.  Besides,  the  Duke  of  Urbino  is 
m  a  position  to  give  us  trouble,  for  the  Spaniards  have  time 
to  come  to  his  aid.  In  that  case  it  would  be  necessary  to 
raise  the  siege. 

D'ALEGRE  :  Bologna  has  revolt  flaming  in  its  entrails,  and 
if  we  merely  look  like  making  an  assault,  the  citizens  will  at 
once  open  us  the  gates  ;  the  Cardinal  will  have  to  fly  and  gain 
the  open  country. 

GASTON  DE  FOIX :  Gentlemen,  I  am  of  the  same  opinion 
33  Captain  d'Alegre,  and  I  ask  you  to  be  ready  four  days 
from  now. 


S  2  209 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BEFORE   LA   MIRANDOLA. 

The  breach. — The  ditches  arc  frozen.  The  men-at-arms  and  the  pontifical 
troops  imder  arms  ;  two  batteries  arc  still  aiming  to  enlarge  the  entry. 
Julius  II.,  the  Duke  of  Urbino,  the  Cardinals  Raphael  Riario,  del 
Carrctto,  Galeotto  della  Rovcre,  Francesco  Romolino  and  Ludovico 
Borgia  ;  Captain  Gian  Paolo  Baglione  ;  secretaries,  chamberlains, 
Swiss  guards  ;  the  Pope  and  all  the  members  of  his  suite,  clad  in  furs 
and  hooded  cloaks  ;  severe  cold. 

JULIUS  II.:   Well!  is  it  over? 

DUKE  OF  URBINO  :  The  town  has  capitulated.     One  of 

the  walled-up  doors  is  to  be  broken  in,  so  as  to  give  a  passage 

to  your  Holiness. 

JULIUS  II. :   No !  I  shall  enter  by  the  breach.     Where  is  the 

Countess  Francesca  ? 

DUKE  :  She  awaits  your  Holiness  in  the  castle. 

JULIUS  II. :    She  may  retire  where  she  will.     Let  us  advance. 

This  eveiiing  we  shall  start  for  Ferrara. 

Enter  a  messenger. 

MESSENGER  :  Holy  Father,  Bologna  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
French. 

JULIUS  II.:   The  Cardinal  has  surrendered  the  place? 
MESSENGER :    The  populace  has  risen  and   opened  the 
gates. 

JULIUS  II. :  So  you  left  an  insufficient  garrison,  Francesco 
Maria  ? 

DUKE  OF  URBINO  :  Most  Holy  Father,  I  obeyed  your 
orders. 

JULIUS  II. :  That  means  that,  in  your  opinion,  the  Cardinal 
of  Pavia,  that  Alidosio  in  whom  I  have  every  confidence,  is  a 
fool,  a  coward,  or  a  traitor  ?     Answer .-' 

DUKE  OF  URBINO  :  It  seems  to  me  that  if  someone  must 
be  wrong,  it's  he  rather  than  I. 

THE  POPE  :  I  will  clear  up  this  matter.  ...  I  feel  very 
strongly  upon  it  ...  ,  you  may  believe  that,  and  no  con- 
sideration will  stay  my  righteous  anger.  Where  is  Michael 
Angelo  ? 

210 


JULIUS  11. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Here,  Holy  Father. 
THE  POPE  :  Give  orders  promptly  for  the  defences  of  the 
Piazza  to  be  repaired  and  put  in  a  proper  state.  Do  the  work 
which  we  discussed,  and  return  to  Rome  with  all  speed  to 
proceed  with  my  tomb.  When  I  see  what  I  see  and  suffer 
what  I  suffer,  I  feel  the  desire  to  be  in  it  already.  My  cup  of 
sorrow  is  full ! 


ROME. 


A  studio  of  small  dimensions. — Carved  furniture,  fine  purple  stuffs,  blue, 
gold,  silver  ;  an  antique  statue  of  Pallas  ;  a  bust  of  Psyche  ;  vases 
filled  with  flowers,  whose  scent  refreshes  and  perfumes  the  room. — 
Raphael  before  his  easel  working  at  the  portrait  of  Monna  Beatrice 
da  Ferrara. 

RAPHAEL :  It  is  not  often  that  I  find  myself  alone  .... 
alone  ....  for  a  long  time  ....  able  to  think  and  feel  as 
I  please  ....  not  subjected  to  the  weight  of  any  immediate 
idea  that  orders  me  about  and  treats  me  like  a  slave.  .  .  .  No ! 
to-day,  I  am  my  own  master,  my  sole  companion.  ...  I  enjoy 
at  my  own  sweet  will,  and  with  nothing  to  dispute  it,  every 
whiff  of  delight  that  comes  to  me  from  that  pleasure  of  soli- 
tude, so  penetrating,  so  lively  that  the  irritated  senses  cannot 
bear  it  long.  Man's  imagination  is  so  weak !  He  constantly 
needs  external  aid  to  support  himself  in  the  air,  and  when  this 
help  is  too  rare,  and  is  not  ceaselessly  renewed,  then  the  poor 
bird  falls,  wearied  out,  and  no  longer  moves.  What  a  misfor- 
tune! ....  for  it  feels  itself  far  more  living  in  those  short 
moments  where  it  suffices  to  itself !  It  is  at  such  moments  that 
I  have  conceived  the  most  beautiful  things  I  can  create.  Yes, 
it  is  then  that  I  have  come  closer  to  the  Creator  who  made  me 

211 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

what  I  am,  to  the  heavenly  objects  that  I  can  express,  to  the  still 
more  divine  tenderness  that  I  can  feel.  .  .  .  Nature  is  deep ; 
but  the  soul  that  penetrates  her  is  a  flame,  joyous  and  bright ! 
In  vain  do  all  the  calamities  of  earth  and  hell  weigh  on  man, 
weigh  on  us  above  all,  us  Italians,  harassed  by  the  barbarians, 
tlie  princes,  the  republics,  the  factions  and  so  many  varied  kinds 
of  criminals.  Joy,  life,  fertility  exalt  us  ;  we  swim,  we  artists,  in 
an  Olympian  empyrean.  And  the  scholars,  the  poets,  the  men 
of  letters,  the  antiquaries,  the  painters,  the  sculptors,  the  archi- 
tects, the  engravers,  the  intaglio  workers,  the  illuminators,  all 
that  from  some  form  or  style  has  become  capable  of  expressing 
a  thought,  a  shade  of  thought,  an  infinitesimal  atom  of  an  idea, 
all  is  at  work,  toils,  will  not  be  disturbed,  heaps  effects  upon 
effects,  and  weathers  all  these  storms  with  the  light  of  genius 
on  its  brow,  a  smile  on  its  lips,  and  its  work  in  its  hand !  Who 
gives  us  such  a  value,  such  a  virtue,  this  power  which  was 
never  seen  before  ?  Athens  only  knew  the  Greek  inventions, 
an  admirable  architecture,  an  incomparable  sculpture,  but 
painting  that  was  a  slave  to  its  glorious  sister,  and  sciences 
limited  where  poetry  was  not.  That  was  her  destiny !  As  to 
us,  what  higher  riches  are  showered  on  us,  and  how  far  wider 
an  arena  is  open  to  our  efforts !  Do  not  we  possess  what 
antiquity  possessed,  and  also  what  our  fathers  learnt  by  them- 
selves ?  We  are  able  to  portray,  as  did  Polycletus  and  Zeuxis, 
the  gods  of  pagan  times,  but  also  the  saints  of  heavenly  Jeru- 
salem— the  philosophers,  but  also  the  schoolmen.  .  .  .  Well, 
we  shall  be  fit  for  anything,  we  shall  attain  anything,  and  the 
universe,  transmuted  by  our  hands,  will  be  re-fashioned ;  we 
shall  have  succeeded  in  expelling,  if  not  evil,  at  any  rate  its 
most  hideous  forms.  Is  not  my  sentiment  true  ?  Could  the 
passion  that  transports  me  lead  me  astray  ?  What  would  then 
be  the  use  of  feeling  it  ?  Why  should  heaven,  from  which  it 
undoubtedly  issues,  send  it  me,  if  it  is  to  remain  barren  ?  .  .  . 

212 


JULIUS  II. 

How  this  portrait  assumes  reality  ....  it  is  like  my  Beatrice ! 
.  .  .  how  the  blood  courses  through  this  adored  face !  .  .  . 

He  turns,  and  sees  Beatrice  on  the  threshold. 

Ah,  here  you  are  yourself!     Here  you  are,  my  dearest!     My 
light,  my  star! 

BEATRICE  :  Work,  Raphael,  my  Raphael!     That  is  how  I 
love  vou  best! 


RAVENNA. 

A  room  in  the  palace. — Julius   II.,   the  Cardinal   Riario  ;  Lionardo  da 
Bibbiena,   secretaries.     The   Pope  is   dictating   dispatches. 

Enter  Matthias  Scheiner,  Cardinal  of  Sion. 

JULIUS  II. :  Body  of  Christ  I     I  gave  orders  not  to  be  inter- 
rupted.    You,  seal  this  letter,  and  see  that  the  post  sets  off 
at  once  for  England.     What  is  doing,  Matthias  ? 
CARDINAL  MATTHIAS  SCHEINER:  A  misfortune! 
JULIUS  II.:  What  misfortune? 

CARDINAL  SCHEINER:  The  Cardinal  of  Pavia  was 
coming  here  to  justify  himself  before  your  Holiness  for  having 
lost  Bologna. 

JULIUS  II. :  If  I  have  lost  Bologna,  I  shall  recover  it.     He 
may  have  been  weak  ;   I  do  not  believe  him  to  be  a  traitor. 
Let  him  come ! 
CARDINAL  SCHEINER  :  My  lord,  the  Duke  of  Urbino, 

fearing  that  the  Cardinal  will  put  the  blame  on  him 

JULIUS  II.:  No  such  falsehoods!  Am  I  a  preposterous 
dotard  who  can  be  hoodwinked  by  all  and  sundry?  ...  Is 
Francesco  Maria  making  game  of  me?  Bid  the  Cardinal 
make  haste.     I  will  listen  to  him,  and  if  the  Duke  of  Urbino 

213 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

has  done  wrong,  he  shall  be  punished.  .  .  .  Well,  what  does 

this  mean  ?  .  .  .  Why  this  silence  ?  .  .  .  Will  you  speak  ?  .  .  . 

Go  and  fetch  me  Alidosio. 

CARDINAL  OF  SION :  The  Duke  of  Urbino  has  just  met 

him  in  the  street,  in  front  of  the  palace  ;  he  went  to  him.  .  .  . 

JULIUS  II. :  Good !     He  insulted  him.     He  is  a  featherbrain. 

1  shall  see  to  that.  .  .  . 

CARDINAL  OF  SION :  No^  Most  Holy  Father  .  .  .  he  .  .  . 

JULIUS  11. :  By  all  the  saints !     Would  he  dare  to  strike  him  ? 
Raise  his  hand  against  a  prince  of  the  Holy  Roman  Church  ? 
.  .  .  You  will  not  say  ?  .  .  .  He  did  not  strike  him,  surely  ?  .  .  . 
CARDINAL  OF  SION :  Most  Holy  Father !  .  .  . 
JULIUS  XL:  Blood  of  the  Madonna!     Speak!  .  .  . 
CARDINAL  OF  SION  :  He  .  .  .  he  stabbed  him ! 
JULIUS   II. :   Stabbed  him.  .  .  .  Impossible  .  .  .  it  .  .  . 
CARDINAL  OF  SION :  He  stabbed  him,  and  the  Cardinal 
of  Pavia  is  there  below,  killed  on  the  spot,  and  the  crowd 
around  him.  ...  I  saw  them  on  the  point  of  carrying  away 
the  corpse. 

Julius  II.  collapses  and  falls  back  into  his  chair.  He  covers  his  eyes 
....  then  raises  his  head,  looks  around  him,  and  says  in  a  dull 
voice : — 

Go,  all  of  you !  .  .  .  Yes,  all.  .  .  .  No !  .  .  .  Remain  here  .  .  . 
you  .  .  .  Matthias! 

All  depart  except  the  Cardinal  of  Sion. 
JULIUS  II. :  I  have  had  much  good  fortune  in  my  hfe.  .  .  . 
I  have  suffered  much  misery  .  .  .  many  mishaps  .  .  .  many 
great  disasters  .  .  .  and  yet,  hitherto,  I  had  never  felt  the 
disgust  of  shame,  of  humiliation,  of  meanness.  ...  I  had  never 
felt  anything  break  within  me !  And  it  is  my  own  nephew, 
my  nearest  in  flesh,  in  blood,  in  personality,  in  will,  in  soul ; 

214 


JULIUS  II. 

it  is  this  part  of  myself  that  has  inflicted  upon  me  a  degrada- 
tion. .  .  .  And  yet  I  .  .  .  yes,  my  friend  .  .  .  you  have  dealt 
me  a  terrible  blow.  ...  I  feel  weak,  Matthias.  ...  I  have  no 
more  strength.  ...  I  do  not  know  what  is  coming  over  me.  .  . 
CARDINAL  OF  SION :  God  uses  our  nearest  and  dearest 
to  visit  us  with  the  sorest  afflictions. 

JULIUS  II. :  This  is  hardly  to  be  borne.  It  might  at  any 
rate  have  happened  at  some  other  moment,  for,  to-day,  you 
know  how  our  edifice  is  cracking  at  every  point.  I  aim  only 
at  the  highest  glory  of  the  Papacy,  as  you  are  well  aware, 
Matthias.  I  wield  a  great  power,  it  is  true.  But  I  aim  at  much 
more  than  I  attain.  I  am  consumed  by  desires  beyond  the  bounds 
of  possibility.  .  .  .  That  is  what  I  am.  ...  I  realise  now :  all 
is  crumbling  and  perishing.  ...  I  stumble  at  every  step. 
Obstacles  of  every  kind  multiply  beneath  my  feet  Wicked- 
ness, meanness,  arrogance,  all  the  vices  of  hell  intermingle  and 
are  welded  together ;  they  form  an  inextricable  network,  that 
enmeshes  me,  stifles  me,  and,  as  a  final  blow,  behold  now  how 
mad  and  bloody  frenzy  issues  from  the  neighbourhood  of  my 
loins,  issues  from  my  very  blood'  to  block  my  path !  You 
realise  that  henceforth  I  am  dishonoured.  You  realise  it  ?  .  .  . 
You  see  it?  You  confess  it?  .  .  .  You,  a  brutal  and  callous 
Swiss !  .  .  .  My  enemies  rely  on  that  self-styled  Council,  that 
ridiculous  assembly  of  wretched  puppets !  That  Santa  Croce ! 
.  .  .  They  already  accuse  me  of  being  a  drunkard  .  .  . 
because  I  am  old,  because  my  face  is  reddened  by  work  and 
my  hands  tremble  at  times,  although  the  weight  of  my  will 
is  still  too  heavy  for  their  thick  skulls.  .  .  .  And  that  Louis 
of  France,  a  clodhopper,  a  vulgar  peasant,  will  say  that  I  cut 
Cardinals'  throats  after  the  fashion  of  the  simoniacal  poisoner 
who  was  swept  before  me  from  the  See  of  the  Apostles !  .  .  . 
What  am  I  to  do?     My  ruin  is  already  accomplished.  ...  I 

215 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

might  as  well  lie  on  the  ground  and  abandon  all  to  the  villainy 
of  my  foes ! 

CARDINAL  OF  SION :  It  is  a  great  misfortmie.  ...  But 
when  one  has  some  energy  one  can  recover  from  any  blow. 
JULIUS  II.:  Give  me  a  glass  of  wine  .  .  .  there,  in  that 
pantry.  .  .  .  (He  drinks.)  Never  matter!  .  .  .  The  blow  is 
hard.  .  .  .  Alidosio  surrendered  Bologna,  it  is  true  .  .  .  still, 
he  was  a  good  servant.  .  .  .  And  my  nephew  .  .  .  my  nephew ! 
.  .  .  The  wretch  is  no  more  anything  to  me !  My  nephew !  A 
scorpion  that  rears  his  head  against  me !  What  earthly  con- 
sideration would  prevent  me  from  crushing  him?  .  .  .  No! 
no !  no !  I  shall  make  a  terrible  example !  If  the  crime 
terrifies,  the  punishment  will  terrify  still  more !  Nothing  like 
it  will  have  been  seen  since  the  condemnation  of  Brutus'  sons, 
and  we  shall  see  what  they  say  of  it ! 

CARDINAL  OF  SION :  I  think  you  would  not  be  wrong. 
Still,  consider.  .  .  . 

JULIUS  II. :  All  shall  perish,  save  myself  and  the  interests 
of  the  Church.  .  .  .  Listen !  I  am  going  back  to  Rome  at 
once ;  there,  an  inexorable  tribunal  will  be  formed.  The 
Duchy  of  Urbino  will  be  re-united  to  the  Church  domains 
The  assassin  .  .  .  shall  be  arrested  .  .  .  enchained  .  .  . 
dragged  into  the  prison  of  the  Holy  Office!  He  shall  not 
come  out  alive !  Write  to  the  Cardinals  that  I  order  them  to 
come  to  the  Consistory. 

CARDINAL  OF  SION:  I  will  do  so. 

JULIUS  II. :  Make  a  note  of  this :  A  Council,  a  real  Council, 
is  summoned  without  delay  to  the  Vatican,  in  order  to  aggra- 
vate and  re-aggravate  the  excommunications  launched  against 
Louie  of  France,  Alphonso  of  Este  and  their  supporters. 
Have  you  written  that  ? 

216 


JULIUS   II. 

CARDINAL  OF  SION:  Yes. 

JULIUS  II. :  Write  further :  The  siege  of  Ferrara  must  be 
pressed !  Write  to  Marc  Antonio  Colonna,  to  the  Venetians, 
to  the  Swiss,  that  my  will  is  unshakable.  I  have  money: 
tell  them  so !  .  .  .  We  must  also  make  an  end  of  the  govern- 
ment of  Florence  and  its  imbecile  head,  Soderini!  Make  a 
note  of  that.  .  .  .  Good.  .  .  .  The  Cardinal  Giovanni  de' 
Medici  will  lead  the  Church  army  on  this  occasion.  .  .  .  V.'e 
shall  have  on  our  side  the  partisans  of  his  house.  .  .  .  But 
....  mark  me  well  ....  I  do  not  intend  that,  once  th« 
Signiory  is  overthrown,  Lorenzo's  heirs  should  regain  power. 
.  .  .  They  shall  be  put  off  with  fair  words.  .  .  .  Florence  and 
Tuscany  must  belong  to  the  Church.  .  .  .  You  will  tell 
Bibbiena  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  me  on  that  subject. 
CARDINAL  OF  SION :  I  have  written,  Most  Holy  Father. 

JULIUS  II.:   I  feel  better.     Ho,  some  one! 

Enter  a  chamberlain. 

Have  my  litter  prepared  and  everything  made  ready.  We 
leave  for  Rome  this  evening.  Order  my  secretaries  in. 
There's  work  to  be  done ! 


217 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BRESCIA. 

The  town  has  been  taken  by  the  French  and  sacked.  Troops  of  soldiers, 
nien-at-arms,  Landskncchts,  adventurers,  sword  in  hand,  furious  with 
rage,  crowd  the  streets  ;  some  of  the  houses  are  burning  ;  doors  are  broken 
in  ;  women  are  dragged  by  their  hair  on  the  pavement  ;  massacre  every- 
where. The  trumpets  and  the  drums  sound  and  beat  to  the  muster  ; 
no  soldier  heeds  them  ;  almost  all  are  drunk.  The  uproar,  the  shouting 
and  shrieking,  the  arquebus  discharges  are  ceaseless. — Gziston  de  Foix, 
Captiun  liirigoye,  Captain  RIoIard,  sword  in  hand  ;  Captains  Bonnet, 
Maugiron,  de  Cleves ;  all  helmeted  and  much  heated. 

CAPTAIN    IMOLARD:    Mgr.    de    Bayard    has    just    been 

severely  wounded ! 

GASTON  DE  FOIX:  That's  unfortunate!  ...  Is  he  dead? 

CAPTAIN  HIRIGOYE  :  Nearly!     I  saw  him  stretched  out 

on  four  pikes,  and  he  was  carried  into  a  house. 

A  MAN-AT-ARMS    (coming  up  at  a  gallop):    My   Lord, 

Captain  d'Alegre  sends  word  to  you  that  he  has  cut  off  some 

Venetians  dragoons  in  the  town.     They  were  trying  to  escape 

by  the  Santo-Nazaro  gate.      We  beat  them  back  on  the  Piazza  ; 

being  surrounded,  they  surrendered.     We  hold  them  prisoners. 

ALL  THE  CAPTAINS  :  Bravo !     A  fine  capture ! 

GASTON  DE  FOIX  :  Have  you  any  prisoners  of  note  ? 

MAN-AT-ARMS :  We  hold  the  provveditore  Andrea  Gritti, 

Contarini,    the    podesta    Giustiniani,    some    captains    of    the 

Republic,  and  Count  Avogadro. 

CAPTAIN  MOLARD:  Excellent!     The  damned  author  of 

the  revolt  of  Brescia,  the  man  to  whom  we  owe  this  bloody 

day! 

GASTON  DE  FOIX:  Tell  Seigneur  d'Alegre  that  Count 

Avogadro  is  to  be  instantly  beheaded  in  the  open  square,  and 

his  body  cut  into  as  many  pieces  as  there  are  quarters  in  the 

town. 

CAPTAIN  MAUGIRON  :  Admirable  justice !  Every  quarter 

shall  have  its  portion!     Ah,  the  double  traitor!     That's  his 

worthy  reward ! 

CAPTAIN  HIRIGOYE :  My  Lord,  I  can  no  longer  hold  in 

my  Gascons !     If  means  are  not  found  for  putting  an  end  to 

218 


JULIUS   II. 

the  pillage,  it  will  be  all  over  with  my  companies ;    I  defy 
anyone  to  rally  them ! 

Captain  Jacob  d'Empser  comes  up  at  a  run. 

CAPTAIN  JACOB  :   My  Lord,  my  Lord,  I  can  no  longer 

hold   in    my    Landsknechts !     They    are    fighting    with    the 

Gascons ! 

CAPTAIN  HIRIGOYE  :  Head  of  God !     Sir  Jacob,  you  shall 

answer  to  me  for  it — I  care  as  little  for  your  skin.  .  .  . 

GASTON    DE   FOIX:    Are  you  mad.   Captain    Hirigoye? 

Challenging  one  of  your  comrades  ?     Are  you  making  game 

of  us? 

CAPTAIN  JACOB:  The  truth  is,  we  must  separate  these 

rascals,  otherwise  they  will  destroy  each  other. 

GASTON  DE  FOIX  :  Captain  IMaugiron,  take  fifty  cuirassiers 

of  my  company,  and  hammer  at  the  Gascons  and  Landsknechts 

until  they  let  go.     Kill  all  who  keep  on  fighting ! 

CAPTAIN  JACOB :  I'll  go  also,  to  try  and  smooth  matters 

over. 

CAPTAIN  HIRIGOYE :  Head  of  St.  Antonine !     Belly  of 

St  Quenet !    Ah,  a  thousand  million  scoundrels !    My  Gascons 

are  devouring  everything !     Let  us  come  and  see  what  is 

doing,  my  dear  Captain  Jacob ! 

They  go  out  hastily  ;  the  fifty  men  at  arms  gallop  off. 
A  COMPANY  SERGEANT:  Reinforcements,  my  Lord! 
Captain  Jacquin  sends  me  to  inform  you  that  from  the  house- 
tops they  are  killing  the  free-lances  with  stones  and  scalding 
them  with  boiling  pitch. 

GASTON  DE  FOIX:  Aly  Lord  of  Cleves.  go  to  the  spot 
with  your  infantrymen. 

BASTARD  OF  CLEVES:  I  don't  know  where  they  are! 
There  are  not  ten  of  them  together.     I'll  run  there  myself. 
GASTON  DE  FOIX:  Dragoons!  follow  me! 

He  goes  with  the  rest  of  his  artillery  company  ;  a  shower  of  tiles,  furniture, 
beams  fall  on  them  from  the  housetops. 


219 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

A  CONVENT. 
The  church  full  of  women  and  children  ;  cries  of  terror 

LANDSKNECHTS  :  Loot!     Loot!     The  women  are  ours! 

Massacre  and  violation. 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HOUSE. 

Captain  Bayard  wounded,  Ij-ing  on  the  floor.  Soldiers  of  Captain  Molard's 
company  who  have  brought  him  ;  a  squire  of  the  captain  ;  his  valet, 
the  Bastaxd  of  Cordon  ;  the  lady  of  the  house,  her  two  daughters  in 
tears,  all  three  on  their  knees. 

BAYARD :   Have  no  fear !     Do  not  weep !     Madame  and 

you,  mesdemoiselles,  I  vouch  for  your  safely.     You  shall  not 

suffer  the  least  scratch.     Comrades,  go  and  keep  watch  at 

the  door !     Tell  those  who  wish  to  enter  that  I  am  here.     The 

house  is  mine.     Quick  ! 

LADY :  Ah,  my  Lord,  save  our  lives !     Save  our  honour ! 

We  will  pay  a  great  ransom ! 

BAYARD :   I  did  not  become  a  dragoon  to  make  money. 

Rest  assured.     I  am  losing  blood!     Have  me  put  on  a  bed! 

Comrades,  I  will  give  you  the  equivalent  of  your  share  of 

booty  I 

SOLDIERS  and  SQUIRES  :  Thanks,  many  thanks,  Captain, 
we  will  not  desert  you !     No  one  shall  enter  here ! 
WOMEN :  Glory  be  to  God,  we  are  saved ! 
BAYARD  :  Have  no  fear.  ...  Ah,  Holy  Blessed  Virgin,  what 
agony ! 

He  faints. 


220 


JULIUS   II. 

FLORENCE. 

The  Palazzo  Ruccellai. — A  room. — The  Gonfalonier  Piero  Soderini,  Niccol6 
Valori,   Niccol5  Machiavelli,   Agostino  Capponi,   Palla   Ruccellai. 

MACHIAVELLI :  I  do  not  know  if  what  I  tell  you  preserves 
its  clearness  as  it  passes  from  my  lips,  but  nothing  seems  more 
manifest.  The  State  is  lost ;  we  are  on  the  brink  of  a  revo- 
lution. 

PALLA  RUCCELLAI :  I  think  so,  too,  and  cannot  under- 
stand it  at  all.     One  can  only  impute  it  to  the  perversity  of 
public  opinion.     Florence  possesses  all  the  liberties. 
MACHIAVELLI :  She  does  not  feel  that  this  is  a  great  boon 
to  her. 

AGOSTINO  CAPPONI:  We  have  the  republic  of  our 
fathers. 

MACHIAVELLI:  The  children  have  acquired  different 
habits. 

PIERO  SODERINI :  Do  me  the  justice  to  admit  that  in  my 
method  of  government  I  try  to  satisfy  all  interests.  Yes, 
indeed  I  do. 

MACHIAVELLI :  But  you  awaken  no  enthusiasm.     So  long 
as  Era  Girolamo  led  us,  our  population  interested  itself  in 
something,  it  was  excited,  animated,  inflamed,  and  in  such  a 
state    men    are    capable    of    sacrifice.     To-day,    lethargy    is 
universal.     I  wish  I  were  mistaken,  but  I  admit  to  you,  my 
friends,  I  fear  that  the  time  of  the  Medici  has  come  back. 
CAPPONI :  Then  if  we  are  to  have  new  Tarquins,  let  us  take 
measures  to  fmd  new  Brutuses. 
MACHIAVELLI  :  We  must  do  nothing  rash. 
SODERINI:    The    march    of    events    drives    us    on.     The 
Congress  of  Mantua,  which  the  Pope  has  raised  against  us  .  .  . 
my  God !  what  harm  that  man  does  us ! 
NICCOLO    VALORI:    I    thought    him    ruined    after    the 
infamous  deed  of  his  nephew  ;  but  he  pardoned  the  murderer, 
and  no  one  thinks  any  more  of  the  matter.    I  thought  him  ruined 

221 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

after  the  battle  of  Ravenna — but  that  imbecile  of  a  Frenchman, 
Gaston  de  Foix,  wins  it  and  then  goes  and  gets  killed,  so 
that  his  victory  is  worse  for  his  side  than  a  defeat!  1  thought 
him  ruined  before  the  Council  of  Milan — but  he  discredits  that 
council,  musters  another,  and  retakes  Bologna,  no  one  knows 
how !  He  has  his  foot  on  the  Duke  of  Ferrara's  neck  and  is 
going  to  dethrone  him,  while  the  French,  triumphant  yester- 
day, abandon  us  and  fly  home,  because  this  accursed  Pope, 
from  the  depths  of  his  calamities,  rises  like  Satan  from  the 
depths  of  the  abyss,  and  hurls  upon  them  thunderbolts  of  awful 
potency !  Behold  the  Swiss  rolling  in  furious  torrents  on  the 
Milanese.  Finally,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  it  is  not  enough 
that  we  have  just  lost  the  protection  of  Louis  XII.,  but  the 
routed  soldiers  of  that  miserable  king  must  needs  let  their 
prisoner  of  Ravenna,  Giovanni  de'  Medici,  escape !  And  now 
Julius  II.  sends  him  to  us  at  the  head  of  the  Papal  army.  The 
situation  is  becoming  intolerable ! 

MACHIAVELLI :  Juhus  II. 's  plans  are  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  those  of  the  late  Duke  of  Valentinois. 
RUCCELLAI:  How  so,  pray? 

MACHIAVELLI :  The  Borgia  worked  only  for  himself ;  his 
work  would,  in  any  case,  have  ended  with  his  life,  for  he  had 
no  children.  But  the  Pope  works  for  the  Church,  and,  at  the 
very  least,  he  will  bequeath  traditions  most  perilous  to  the 
independence  of  the  Italian  States. 

VALORI :  It  is  deplorable  to  think  that  the  majority  of  our 
fellow-citizens  imagine  that  with  the  government  of  the 
Medici,  trade  will  be  better.  Moreover,  we  are  beginning  to 
have  the  artists  ranged  against  us.  Their  tribe  wants  festivals, 
luxury  and  extravagance. 

CAPPONI :  A  well-aimed  dagger-thrust  has  often  done  a 
great  deal  of  good. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Or  a  great  deal  of  harm.  Good  evening, 
gentlemen.     I  go  home  feeling  very  uneasy. 


222 


JULIUS   II. 

BARBERINO. 

The  city  in  the  background.  Across  country,  at  the  foot  of  the  Apennines, 
the  Spanish  army  and  the  Papal  troops  are  on  the  march  towards 
Florence  by  the  Plain  which  leads  to  Prato. — At  the  head  of  a  company 
of  men-at-arms  march  Don  Raimondo  de  Cardona,  Viceroy  of  Naples, 
General  of  the  League  ;  Cardinal  Giovanni  de'  Medici,  Legate  of  the 
Holy  See  in  the  Romagna  and  Tuscany ;  the  Duke  of  Urbino, 
Captains  Vitelh  and  Orsini,  other  officers. 

DUKE  OF  URBINO  :  Certainly,  most  reverend  sir,  the  Holy 
Father  asks  for  nothing  better  than  to  see  your  family 
re-instated  at  Florence  and  in  possession  of  its  rights.  But 
you  want  to  go  too  fast,  you  are  precipitating  matters,  and  I 
have  express  orders  to  act  with  prudence  and  circumspection. 
CARDINAL  GIOVANNI  DE'  MEDICI :  If  we  proceed  as 
you  are  doing,  all  will  be  lost.  The  popular  party  will  un- 
doubtedly be  overthrown.  The  intriguers,  the  heirs  of 
Savonarola,  will  disappear,  but  who  will  be  set  up  in  their 
place?  That  is  a  thing  which  you  cannot  say,  but  which  I 
should  like  to  know. 

DUKE  OF  URBINO  :  I  could  not  destroy  his  Holiness,  nor 
you  either,  nor  anyone.  Return  to  Florence  with  your 
kinsfolk,  but  in  a  private  capacity. 

AN  OFFICER  (to  Don  Raimondo):  Your  Excellency,  the 
Florentines  have  just  reinforced  the  garrison  of  Prato  with 
two  thousand  foot  and  a  hundred  lancers,  under  the  command 
of  Luca  Savelli. 

DON  RALMONDO  :  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  We  lack  artillery 
and  even  provisions. 

DUKE  OF  URBINO :  We  must  negotiate.  I  have  orders 
to  make  terms  with  the  Florentines.  If  they  are  willing  to 
send  back  Sodcrini  and  admit  the  Medici  on  the  footing  of 
ordinary  citizens,  I  am  ordered  to  declare  myself  satisfied, 
CARDINAL  GIOVANNI  DE'  MEDICI:  As  there  is  no 
way  of  obtaining  better  terms,  let  us  send  an  envoy,  and  in  the 
meanwhile,  let  us  take  a  little  rest  under  these  trees. 

T  223 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

DON  RAIMONDO  :  I  obey  you,  my  Lord  ;  let  us  dismount 

and  do  as  you  wish. 

They  stop  their  horses  and  dismount ;  servants  stretch  a  carpet  under 
a  tree  ;  the  captains  sit  down. 


VENICE. 


The    Palazzo    Gradenigo.     Luigi    MaUpiero,    Leonardo    Mocenigo,    Luigi 
Gradenigo.     A  large  room  with  windows  looking  out  on  to  tlic  lagoon. 

GRADENIGO :  Welcome,  noble  Lords.  I  was  almost 
expecting  the  honour  of  receiving  you  to-day,  since  the 
weather  is  glorious. 

MOCENIGO :  We  have  come  to  find  you,  as  we  agreed 
yesterday,  so  that  we  can  go  and  make  a  tour  of  the  studios 
of  our  painters. 

MALIPIERO :  I  will  also  propose  a  visit  to  the  printing- 
press  of  our  friend  Manuzio.  He  has  founded  a  new  Greek 
type,  and  it  is  said  to  be  exceedingly  beautiful. 
GRADENIGO :  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  seeing  it. 
Signor  Aldo  is  a  hero  of  learning.  The  knowledge  accumu- 
lated in  his  erudite  head  would  suffice  for  the  glory  of  a  whole 
regiment  of  Hellenists  and  Latinisers.  By  the  way,  I  have 
just  received  a  letter  from  Signor  Navagiero. 
MALIPIERO :  Is  he  still  at  Pordenone  with  the  valiant  and 
witty  Signor  Alviane  ? 

GRADENIGO  :  No  doubt.  He  compliments  me  highly  on 
the  society  of  men  of  breeding  and  learning  assembled  by  our 
Captain-General  in  this  elegant  sanctuary  of  the  Muses. 
MOCENIGO:  Is  his  poem  making  progress? 
GRADENIGO :  The  fine  work  is  nearing  completion,  and 
Signor  Navagiero  has  read  some  of  it  to  his  friends,  with 
every  mark  of  applause.  But,  illustrious  Signers,  I  think  my 
gondola  is  at  the  landing-stage,  and  we  must  be  going.  Let 
us  first  betake  ourselves  to  Master  Titian,  then  v/e  will  visit 
Robusti  and  the  others. 

224 


JULIUS   II. 

MOCENIGO  :  At  your  orders,  noble  Signor.  For  my  part, 
I  am  only  too  happy  to  devote  so  fine  a  day  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  masterpieces  in  the  company  of  so  exquisite  a  con- 
noisseur as  your  illustrious  Excellency. 


FERRARA. 

A  room  in  the  Duchess'  apartments.  Rich  Flanders  tapestry  representing 
mythological  subjects,  furniture  of  carved  cbonj-,  pictures,  statues. — 
Madam  Lucrezia  Borgia,  Duchess  of  Ferrara  ;  Luigi  Bembo. 

BEMBO  :  You  are  anxious  ? 

LUCREZIA  (smiling) :  Not  exactly  ....  but  preoccupied. 
Why,  I  resemble  pretty  closely  men's  general  notion  of  Italy. 
When  you  arrived,  I  was  reading  this  manuscript  open 
on  my  knees.  It  is  the  first  cantos  of  Ludovico  Ariosto's  poem. 
That  truly  sublime  poet  sent  it  me  this  morning.  I  was  giving 
rein  to  an  enthusiastic  admiration.  But  at  the  same  time  I  was 
thinking  that  the  Duke's  affairs  were  not  in  so  good  a 
state  as  I  should  like  to  see  them.  Recently,  the  Pope  wanted 
to  assassinate  him,  and  His  Holiness  only  anwers  our  advances 
by  threats.  My  husband,  I  know,  is  not  the  man  to  let  himself 
be  browbeaten.  Nevertheless,  at  times  I  feel  anxious,  for,  as 
you  know  well,  Luigi,  my  children's  future  and  the  fortunes 
of  our  house  are  at  stake ;  this  is  well  worth  reflection ;  and 
when  I  see  to  what  a  pass  the  Florentines  are  brought,  I  tell 
myself  that  the  liberty  of  princes  and  republics  is  precarious 
indeed  in  face  of  the  most  ambitious  of  Pontiffs.  Our  turn  to 
fall  will  come  if  heaven  does  not  set  matters  in  order.  So  you 
see,  you  who  have  been  my  friend  all  my  life,  my  head  is  intoxi- 
cated with  poetry,  my  reason  distracted  by  political  cares,  my 
heart  anxious  for  my  husband  and  my  children,  and  my 
feelings.  .  .  . 

BEMBO:  Your  feelings?  .  .  . 

LUCREZIA  (smiling):  My  feelings,  perhaps,  a  little  dis- 
traught and  going  in  your  direction.  ...  In  slinrt,  is  not  that 
just  like  Italy?     Poetry,  fear,  interests  ....  and  love? 

T  2  225 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BEMBO  :  It  is  well  said — and  how  well  you  remain  mistress 
of  fear,  interests  and  love !  As  to  poetry,  I  have  not  told  you 
enough  how  admirable  is  your  song  of  yesterday  evening !  I 
passed  the  night  in  reading  and  re-reading  it,  in  covering  it 
with  kisses  as  a  twenty-year-old  student  would  have  done.  .  .  . 
But  why  did  you  write  in  Spanish  ? 

LUCREZIA  :  Spanish  is  my  native  tongue,  and  the  sentiment 
I  wished  to  express  is  as  strong  as  Spanish  passion.  What 
have  you  done  with  the  lock  of  hair  that  accompanied  the 
song? 

BEMBO  :  It  is  in  a  vellum  envelope  tied  with  ribbon  knots. 
I  cannot  believe  that  ever  was  shepherd  of  Theocritus  or  lover 
of  Amaryllis  happier  than  I ! 

LUCREZIA :  Do  you  know  that  tlic  Florentines  have  done 
many  foolish  things  ?  The  gonfalonier,  Soderini,  was  unable 
either  to  make  terms  or  to  offer  a  defence.  He  has  been 
driven  out.  The  Medici  have  returned,  and  are  treated  as 
ordinary  citizens. 

BEMBO  :  An  unworkable  compromise!  The  result  will  be 
either  a  fresh  banishment  or  a  return  to  supreme  power. 
LUCREZIA :  The  Pope  hopes  to  take  Tuscany  for  himself. 
BEMBO  :  Assuredly.  If  only  the  French  had  been  able  to 
hold  their  own  at  Milan !  But  winning  all  in  a  day  and  losing 
all  in  an  hour  has  always  been  their  way ! 

LUCREZIA  :  They  are  our  allies  and  our  support.  At  this 
moment,  their  misfortune  is  ours,  but,  in  short  (I  will  tell  you 
in  confidence)  I  could  wish  that  Louis  XII.  would  never  come 
back.  For  in  that  case  our  fellow-countrymen,  the  Venetians, 
would  be  forced  to  guard  against  the  Holy  Father's  encroach- 
ments. They  would  break  with  him  and  unite  with  Don 
Alfonso  to  guarantee  the  common  liberty.  That  is  what  I 
should  like  to  arrange,  and  the  Medici  would  not  be  unwilling 
to  enter  this  combination. 

BEMBO  :  It  seems  to  me,  indeed,  full  of  wisdom  and  worthy 
of  the  head  of  Pallas  whence  it  issues.     Let  me  think  it  over, 

226 


///  Mif.Wi'  i  '(infiiid/fA-  Vii/i  III! 


I.I  /■ 


//I'M  /:  I /-./ 


{•.\i<i)i\.\i.  i:i:mi'.u 


to  fart  page  216 


JULIUS   II. 

and  when  I  have  appreciated  its  strong  points,  I  can,  if  you 
agree,  write  to  Venice. 

LUCREZIA:  Why  lose  time?  Sit  down  at  this  table.  I 
will  explain  you  my  ideas  in  detail,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  know 
of  the  secret  interests  and  the  inclinations  of  princes  .... 
and  what  I  guess.  .  .  .  We  will  discuss  the  matter  and  in  your 
fine  Ciceronian  style  you  will  at  once  draw  up  a  memorandum 
which  we  will  send  to  the  Signiory  of  Venice  and  to  Cardinal 
Giovanni  de'  Medici.  Are  you  willing? 
BEMBO  (going  to  the  table) :  To  work  for  the  arbitress  of 
my  life — what  could  I  desire  better  ? 

LUCREZIA :  Do  you  know  anything  more  charming  than 
these  verses  from  the  Rolaid  ?  Read  yourself. 
BEMBO  (reading) :  "  The  first  inscription  that  meets  our  eyes, 
honours  with  much  praise  Lucrezia  Borgia,  her  who  owes  her 
beauty  and  exceeding  virtue  to  the  ancient  country  of  her  for- 
bears— Rome."  It  is  the  mere  truth,  but  it  is  well  said.  Why 
does  my  Lord  the  Cardinal  Ippolito  affect  to  treat  Ariosto  as 
a  dandy? 

LUCREZIA  :  Because  my  brother-in-law  is  an  imbecile.  Let 
us  set  to  work,  and  listen  to  me  carefully. 
BEMBO :  One  word  more.  .  .  .  You  do  not  seem  to  notice 
that  your  idea  runs  counter  to  the  precepts  reiterated  for  the 
past  twenty  years.  Savonarola  desired  the  unity  of  Italy ; 
your  brother,  the  Duke  of  Valentinois,  preached  no  other 
theme,  and  Pope  Julius  II.  is  perhaps,  in  his  way,  still  more 
insistent  on  this  score.  You,  on  the  contrary,  confess  that  you 
only  aim  at  continuing  the  partition. 

LUCREZIA :  It  is  not  to  the  interests  of  Venice,  or  Florence, 
or  Naples,  or  ourselves,  that  Italy  should  ever  be  united  under 
one  hand,  for  that  hand  could  not  possibly  be  ours.  So  long 
as  it  was  not  realised  how  far  chance  ruled  human  affairs,  you, 
with  your  schemes  of  territorial  aggrandisement,  the  Sforza, 
my  brother,  and  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  repeated  in  turn  the 
same  language  and  wished,  for  their  own  profit,  to  concentrate 
the    Peninsula    into    one    great    State.     Savonarola    himself 

327 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

dreamed  of  this  for  the  benefit  of  his  own  ideas.     Now,  we 

know  how  we  stand  ;  we  have  all  failed.     To  become  beggars, 

prostrate   before   the    Holy   Father's   feet,   is   not  desirable. 

Henceforth,  we  shall  not  talk,  believe  me,  of  the  greatness  of 

the  whole,  but  only  of  the  independence  of  the  parts.     As  a 

phrase,  it  sounds  quite  as  well.     Write,  dear  I.uigi,  I  pray  you. 

BEMBO :  Your  system  is  new  to  me,  I  admit ;    it  does  not 

please  me  too  well.  .  .  .  All  my  life  I  have  professed  opposite 

views. 

LUCREZIA  (smiling) :  Yes,  and  with  great  eloquence.    What 

conclusion  do  you  draw  ? 

BEMBO:    But   consider!     If    Italy's   forces   are    to   remain 

scattered,  there  cannot  even  be  a  question  of  expelling  the 

barbarians. 

LUCREZIA:  Did  you  seriously  hope  ever  to  succeed  in  that? 

BEMBO  :  Clearly,  I  thought     .  .  . 

LUCREZIA :  For  the  last  ten  years  I  have  never  thought 

anything  of  the  kind  ...  if  perhaps  I  did  so  in  days  gone  by. 

Besides,  you  are  speaking  to  a  Spaniard,  do  not  forget  that ; 

people  of  my  house  and  rank  cannot  share  all  your  fancies. 

What  is  coming  over  you?     Why,  you  seem  quite  moved  by 

my  confidences !     I   thought   you   had   some  liking  for   the 

society  of  barbarians  ? 

BEMBO :  Do  not  mock  me  too  far.  ...  I  admit,  you  have 

given  me  quite  a  shock.  .  .  .  If  we  are  never  to  become  free, 

we  Italians ;  if  we  must  always  undergo  the  caprices  and  the 

outrages  of  foreigners,  unhappy  race  that  we  are,  what  are 

we  to  utter  to  heaven  in  our  prayers  save  cruel  reproaches  and 

complaints  too  well  justified  ? 

LUCREZIA:  How  ungrateful  you  are!     These  invaders  of 

your  country,  do  you  not  gain  the  mastery  of  them  ?     Are  you 

not  for  the  whole  earth  the  centre  of  knowlege,  of  ideas,  of 

philosophies,  of  great  thoughts,  and  the  workshop  where  the 

Muses  have  taken  up  their  abode  in  order  to  produce  their 

228 


JULIUS   II. 

magical  creations  ?     Is  it  not  from  you  that  the  spark  of  genius 
which  traverses  the  world  and  gives  it  new  life  arises  ?     What 
glory  is  equal  to  yours?     What  power  is  superior? 
BEMBO  :  Agreed  ;  but  he  who  is  a  giant  in  one  aspect  wishes 
to  be  so  in  all.     Do  not  smile,  I  bow  before  your  wisdom,  and 
I  take  up  my  pen  to  obey  you.     I  will  work  with  you  and  for 
you,  and  as  you  desire  ;  I  shall  constrain  myself  to  make  your 
plans  succeed,  because  I  am  devoted  to  you.     Yet,  neverthe- 
less, I  also  confess  that  I  do  not  wish  to  lose  the  hope  of  my 
youth,  my  life's  ideal.     I  long  passionately  for  an  Italy  that 
is  compact,  strong,  dominant  in  every  sphere,  and  were  it 
even  under  the  rule  and  for  the  benefit  of  the  Holy  See,  I 
should  acquiesce  and  bless  heaven  for  it     After  all,  what  is 
needed  for  attaining  success  ?     Only  a  few  years  more  of  life 
granted  to  this  Julius  II.,  who  is  very  embarrassing,  I  adr.iit, 
but  in  many  respects  worthy  of  admiration.  .  .  .  You  yourself 
agree  to  that  on  occasion.  .  .  .  And  if  luck  will  have  it  that 
France  and  Germany  remain  governed  by  incapable  rulers, 
behold  our  dream  realised.     Leave  me  my  hopes. 
LUCREZIA  :   You  are  a  grown-up  child.     I  do  not  quarrel 
with  your  illusions,  certain  as  I  am  that  they  will  never  prevent 
you  from  serving  me  well.     You  love  them,  but  you  love  me 
more!  .  .  .  Yet  reflect  that  they  are  follies,  and  that  their 
realisation  would  not  bring  happiness  to  you  or  to  anyone  else. 
There    is    nothing   great    in    this    world    save    the    love    of 
art,   the    love   of    the    things    in    the    intellect,    the   love    of 
those  whom  one  loves,  and  moreover,  when  life  in  its  course 
has  raised  you  to  one  of  those  table-lands  where  the  flowers 
become  scarcer  and  the  horizons  more  stern,  perhaps  you  will 
still  find  pleasure  in  wise  reflection  on  certain  eternal  matters 
about  which  we    trouble   less   in    our   first   youth.  .  .  .  But 
enough !     Let  us  set  to  our  work,  and  listen  to  mc  with  all 
attention. 


229 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


ROME. 


The  Vatican. — The  Holy  Father's  bedroom. — Juhus  II.  in  bed.   Bernardo 
da  Bibbiena  ;  Cardinal  of  Sion  ;  the  datary  Lorenzo  Pucci. 

JULIUS  II.  :   All  is  over.  ...  I  am  dying  ....  and  I  have 
accomplished  nothing  of  what  I  have  undertaken. 
BIBBIENA:    All   is   not    over,    Most    Holy   Father.     Your 
Holiness  has  abundant  strength  left. 

JULIUS  II.  :  No  longer  enough.  I  have  not  finished  the 
Vatican,  nor  the  re-building  of  Rome,  nor  my  tomb,  nor  any- 
thing. .  .  .  My  artists  will  disperse  when  I  am  no  more 

The  Medici  are  again  dominant  in  Florence,  and  I  am  losing 

Tuscany.  .  .  .  Maximilian  Sforza  has  recovered  Milan.  .  .  . 

The  petty  disorders  are  beginning  afresh.  .  .  .  They  will  have 

to  bring  in  the  French,  the  Germans,  the  Swiss,  the  Spaniards — 

in  brief,  the  greater  disorders  to  crush  the  less — and  to  take 

in  hand  the  whole  work  of  reconstruction  at  fresh  expense.  .  .  . 

I  am  in  terrible  pain.  ...  I  am  dying.  .  .  . 

A  PHYSICIAN  :  Your  Holiness  must  not  be  so  excited. 

JULIUS  II. :    I  have  lived  in  the  compass  of  a  narrow  circle. 

To  check  the  breaking-up,  it  was  necessary  to  destroy  the 

petty  tyrants.  .  .  .  To  destroy  the  tyrants,  we  needed  the 

foreigners.  .  .  .  With  the  foreigners,  there  is  no  more  Italy. 

,  .  .  Do  you  know  that,  swarthy-face? 

PHYSICIAN :     His    Holiness'    pulse    is    growing    sensibly 

weaker,  and  he  is  wandering. 

JULIUS  II. :  Here  I  am  in  my  bed  .  .  .  nailed  down  .  .  . 

Michael    Angelo  .  .  .  Raphael.  .  .  .  The    one    is    working 

.  .  .  but  the  other?  .  .  .  He  is  with  some  woman.  .  .  .  And 

the  Bramante,  what  is  he   doing?  .  .  .  Alfonso   of  Ferrara 

.  .  .  the  traitor !  .  .  .  My  head's  awhirl.  ...  I  am  not  sure 

of  the  Venetians.  .  .  . 

BIBBIENA  :  His  Holiness'  words  are  no  longer  plain.  .  .  . 

PHYSICIAN  :  It  is  only  a  matter  of  minutes. 

JULIUS  II. :  Intellect  .  .  .  genius  .  .  .  hfe  .  .  .  savagery  .  .  . 

230 


JULIUS   II 

nothing  that  holds  together  .  .  .     that  is  the  Itahan!  .  .  . 
What  will  be  the  end  ? 

CARDINAL  OF  SION :  Give  him  some  drops  of  cordial. 
JULIUS  II.   (rising  upright  from  his  bed):    Death  to  the 
French!     Death  to  Alfonso  of   Ferrara!     Drive  them  from 
Italy,  from  every  hole  and  comer  of  Italy! 

Falls  back  on  his  bed  and  die«. 

BIBBIENA:  The  Pope  is  dead! 


END    OF    THE    THIRD    PART 


J3I 


FOURTH    PART 


LEO    X. 


LEO  X. 


ROME. 


The  Sistine  Chapel. — Part  of  it  is  Uttered  with  immense  scafioldings.  On 
the  walls  and  ceilings  are  frescoes  in  the  making.  Some  portions 
are  completed  ;  in  several  places  the  design  appears  bare,  more  or  less 
prepared.  Michael  Angelo,  standing  ;  he  works  with  energy.  II 
Granacci  seated  a  few  yards  from  him  on  a  stool,  in  the  midst  of  heaps 
of  chalk,  colour-pots,  joists  and  utensils  of  every  description. 

GRANACCI :  Your  reflections  are  not  cheerful,  master. 
MICHAEL  AXGELO:  That  is  my  view  of  things. 
GRiVNACCI :  The  arts  have  never  been  so  flourishing !  Never 
have  such  beautiful  works  been  brought  to  light !  How  many 
illustrious,  nay,  superhuman  painters,  sculptors,  architects  !  .  .  . 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  know  no  superhuman  men.  This 
language  is  ridiculous.  Do  not  blaspheme. 
GRANACCI :  Blasphemy,  if  you  will ;  I  regard  you  as  a  demi- 
god, and  others  are  of  my  opinion.  Do  not  raise  your  eye- 
brows, but  let  me  continue.  Every  day,  almost,  we  join  in 
festivals  the  like  of  which  has  never  before  been  conceived. 
Here  in  Rome,  as  in  Florence,  in  Venice,  in  Milan,  in  Bologna, 
in  Naples,  the  lofty  inventions  of  the  ancients  in  this  kind  of 
magnificence  are  far  surpassed.  Of  scholars,  of  poets,  of 
writers  there  is  no  lack.  New  ones  are  continually  arising ; 
there  is  Sannazaro,  Sadoleto,  Bembo,  Navagiero,  and  the 
inimitable,  the  sublime  Ariosto  ;  there  is  Bibbiena  with  his 
Calajidrja,  and  Master  Niccolo  Machiavelli  with  his 
Mandragora.  What  more  can  1  say?  Pope  Leo  X.  and  his 
Cardinals  appear  to  my  intoxicated  imagination  as  the  equals 
of  great  Jove  and  the  gods  of  the  Pantheon,  and  moreover 
they  dwell  in  an  01)'mpus  infinitely  more  beautiful  than  that 
of  their  mythical  precursors — seeing  tliat  that  ancient  Olympus 
was  established  by  old  Coelus,  a  poor  god  who  had  no  taste 
and  no  wit ;  whereas  to-day,  it  is  we  artists  who  have  created 
the  firmament,  it  is  we  who  embellish  it,  illuminaling  it  every 
hour  with  glorious  tints,  making  it  shine  with  dazzling  stars  ; 
and  I  assure  you  that  where  you  set  j'our  hand,  where  Master 
Raphael,  Andrea  del  .Sarto,  .Sansovino,  Titian,  and  so  many 
others  are  working,  the  achievement  is  immortal. 

235 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  You  arc  a  chatterer,  Granacci,  and  a 
blind  one,  incapable  of  realising  the  meanness  of  what  charms 
you,  and  the  profound  weakness  of  these  men  who  delight 
you  and  who  are  worth  so  little. 

GRANACCI :  Then  prove  to  me  that  I  am  wrong,  since  you 
are  so  resolved  to  depreciate  everything. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  That  will  not  be  difficult.  State 
)'our  absurd  propositions,  and  I  will  answer  you. 
GRANACCI :  The  Pope  is  the  most  enthusiastic  patron  of 
art  that  the  world  has  ever  known.  You  cannot  deny  that 
his  benefits  rain  down  upon  us  like  an  unceasing  and  most 
delicious  manna. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Pope  Leo  X.  is  not  a  lover  of  the 
arts.  He  is  a  lover  of  luxury,  and  that  is  quite  a  different 
thing.  All  that  glitters  and  brings  him  praise  seems  to  him 
worthy  of  his  patronage,  and  his  only  intention  is  that  the 
arts  shall  minister  to  his  vanity.  What  they  express  concerns 
him  but  little.  The  first  of  mortals  who  practised  luxury 
began,  perhaps,  to  smooth  the  way  by  which  the  arts  came 
into  the  world ;  but  the  second  banished  the  arts  in  order  to 
replace  them  by  bombast  and  falsehood. 

GRANACCI:  Ah,  dear  master,  how  you  love  to  condemn! 
The  Pope,  our  great  Pope  Leo  X.,  how  harshly  you  judge  him! 
Do  you,  then,  prefer  the  austere  spirit  of  his  predecessor .'' 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Julius  II.  was  the  only  true  prince 
that  my  eyes  have  ever  beheld.  Lie  was  not  a  man  for  fleshly 
enjoyment.  He  conceived  nothing  but  the  imposing,  and 
admitted  nothing  but  strength.  His  sole  preoccupation,  in  all 
matters,  was  to  create  and  leave  behind  him  the  Church 
triumphant  crushing  beneath  her  sinewy  foot  the  resistance  of 
the  impious.  Lie  aimed  at  reforming  the  whole  clergy,  at 
driving  the  barbarians  from  Italy;  if  he  repressed  the  revolts 
of  the  barons,  of  the  Colonna,  the  Vitelli,  the  Orsini,  he  also 
saw  to  it  that  the  city  was  properly  policed,  and  in  his  time 
...  a  sight  never  seen  before !  ...  no  thief  or  cutpurse  dared 
to  risk  his  villainous  face  in  the  streets  of  Rome !     From  his 

236 


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I'opE   i.i:o  x. 


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! 

3 


LEO   X.  . 

artists  he  demanded  great  monuments,  vast  frescoes,  immense 
canvases ;  he  thought  only  of  the  gigantic,  as  befitted  so 
imperious  a  soul  as  was  his.  I  have  lost  everything  in  losing 
this  noble  master;  but  art,  I  say,  art  the  heavenly,  art  that 
is  Venus  Urania,  and  not  the  licentious  Venus  of  the  streets, 
that  art  has  lost  still  more ! 

GRANACCI :  I  cannot  see  at  all  what  grounds  you  have  for 
making  such  peculiar  statements.  Hardly  had  the  Conclave 
delivered  to  Leo  X.  the  keys  of  St.  Peter,  than  the  Pontiff 
surrounded  himself  with  distinguished  writers  and  poets ;  he 
summoned  and  chose  as  secretaries  the  amiable  Sadoleto,  of 
whom  I  was  just  speaking,  and  the  elegant  Bembo.  You  he 
ordered  to  proceed  with  the  works  begun.  .  .  . 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  He  tore  me  away  from  the  tomb  of 
Julius  n.,  my  favourite  work,  at  which  I  laboured  with  my 
entire  soul,  and  which  will  never  see  the  light  of  day.  It  will 
remain  there,  in  my  head  ...  a  stillborn  child.  .  .  .  Do  you 
think  that  is  a  trifling  vexation? 

GRANACCI  :  I  agree,  it  is  a  great  misfortune ;  but  it  only 
proves  that,  hke  all  who  pay  artists,  the  Pope  has  his  whims. 
He  would  rather  that  you  occupied  yourself  with  his  glory 
and  pleasure  than  with  the  apotheosis  of  his  predecessor,  to 
whom  he  assuredly  bore  a  very  lukewarm  affection.  .  .  .  But 
here  is  a  visitor  for  you. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Another  intruder!  .  .  .  I'll  send 
him  packing.  .  .  .  Messer,  whoever  you  arc,  do  not  trouble 
to  climb  this  ladder.  Beside  the  fact  tliat  it  is  rough  and 
unsteady,  I  have  no  time  to  talk  with  anyone. 
MACHIAVELLI  (loudly  from  the  back  of  the  chapel)  :  Most 
excellent  Signor  Michael  Angelo,  will  you  not  allow  an  old 
friend,  comrade  and  fellow-citizen  to  come  and  embrace  you  ? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  (looking  down  from  the  top  of  the 
ladder) :  It  is  Signor  Niccolo  Machiavclli.  .  .  .  Come  up,  since 
you  are  there.     You  will  permit  me,  I  suppose,  to  go  on  with 

^17 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

my  work,  and  you  will  spare  yourself  and  me  all  idle  com- 
plimcnls. 

MACPIIAVELLI :    I    am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  risk  any, 

knowing  your  temper  as  I  do. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Where  do  you  hail  from? 

MACHIAVELLI :  From  Florence.  ...  I  have  come  out  of 

prison,  as  you  may  have  learnt. 

GRANACCI :    Yes  .  .  .  you    were    entangled    in    Boscoli's 

conspiracy.  .  .  . 

MACHIAVELLI :  That  was  a  most  atrocious  slander;  I  am 

a  devoted  servant  of  the  Medici  house. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Devoted?  .  .  .  H'm!  .  .  .  Devoted. 

...  I  congratulate  you  .  .  .  there  are  others  to  whom  you 

have  shown  devotion. 

MACHIAVELLI   (shrugging  his   shoulders):   We  have  all 

been  young  once !     I  was  caught  in  the  snare  of  Fra  Girolamo 

Savonarola's  vagaries,  as  all  the  world  knows. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Vagaries,  if  you  will— that  is  what 

they  call   it  when  we   recommend  honour,  uprightness  and 

chastity.     Yet  the  best  thing  in  your  life,  Messer  Niccolo,  will 

prove  to  have  been  that  error  of  your  youth. 

MACHIAVELLI :  Perhaps  you  are  right,  perhaps  you  are 

wrong ;   what  is  certain  is  that  this  kind  of  merit,  humanity 

being  what  it  is,  could  never  bring  forth  anything  good  for 

myself  or  for  others. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  So  you  reproach  yourself  with  having 

once  sought  the  good  of  religion?     I  have  a  strong  desire  to 

nail  your  portrait  in  the  shape  of  a  grinning  devil  somewhere 

on  this  wall. 

MACHIAVELLI :  That  would  be  a  great  honour  for  me. 

In  holy  theology  we  have  to  believe  that  the  most  cunning 

of  devils  working  to-day  for  the  glory  of  hell  were,  in  their 

beginnings,  good  little  angels  seeing  no  further  than  the  ends 

of  their  noses.     What  has  corrupted  them  ?     Experience.     In 

238 


LEO   X. 

short,  I  used  to  believe,  like  you,  like  Granacci,'  like  so  many 

others,  in  the  possibility  of  living  at  Florence  and  at  the  same 

time  keeping  honest.     It  was  a  great  misfortune  for  me,  and  I 

thus  brewed  myself  a  potion  of  disgrace  from'  which,  from 

time  to  time,  I  have  to  swallow  mouthfuls.     That  is  what  I 

have  done  just  lately.     Nevertheless,  I  have  finished  the  third 

act  of  my  Majidragora. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  That  will  be  a  fme  work,  Messer 

Niccolo ;  for  if  you  are  a  poor  politician,  you  are  an  excellent 

man  of  letters,  and  that  is  some  consolatioa 

MACHIAVELLI :  A  poor  politician  ?     Your  verdict  seems  to 

me  severe — but  perhaps,  taking  all  in  all,  you  are  riglit.     What, 

have  I  meditated  so  much  on  history,  commented  so  much  on 

Livy,  read  so  much  of  our  Florentine  annals  and  examined 

the  governments  and  characters  of  all  nations,  only  to  recognise 

in  the   end   and  confess   to   myself  that   I   am   but   a  poor 

politician  ? 

He  sits  down  on  a  stool  in  a  corner  and  remains  pensive,  his  legs  and 
arms  crossed,  loolung  fixedly  before  him. 

A  poor  politician  !  I  have,  in  fact,  occasionally  been  mistaken, 
and  the  worst  of  all  is  that  when  I  was  right  I  was  unable 
to  inspire  confidence  in  my  ideas.  I  will  plead  as  my  excuse 
that  there  is  no  science  more  conjectural  than  that  oi  politics, 
not  one  in  which  forecasts  are  so  liable  to  be  falsified  by 
unforeseen  incidents,  by  the  slightest  breath  of  wind.  Why,  if 
sureness  of  vision,  resoluteness  in  execution,  genius  in  manipu- 
lation were  enough  to  ensure  success,  the  Duke  of  Valcntinois 
would  undoubtedly  have  founded  an  Italian  kingdom  and 
determined  our  future. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  The  result  would  hava  been  a  thing 
to  make  God  the  Father  blush. 

MACHIAVELLI:  God  the  Father  saw  Ilcliogabalus  reign, 
and  never  blushed  at  all ;  He  sees  every  day  the  worst  rogues 
and  ruffians  pass  success  on  frora  one  to  the  other,  and  He  is 

U  239 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

none  the  less  cheerful.     The  late  Julius  II.,  excepting  the  man 
I  have  just  mentioned,  was  surpassed  by  none  in  greatness  of 
aspiration  and  energy  of  action. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  True. 

MACIIIAVELLI:  The  opposition  to  him  consisted  solely  of 
fools  and  madmen  (I  except  the  Duke  of  Ferrara) ;  but  as  it 
happened,  he  was  old  and  had  to  die. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  We  shall  never  see  his  like. 
MACHIAVELLI:  No!  It  remains  no  less  true  that  the 
world  continues  to  go  round  and  puts  up  with  what  it  can  find. 
To-day  is  the  day  of  glory  for  fools.  Sforza  of  Milan  is  not 
worth  a  hollow  nutshell.  Fregoso,  at  Genoa,  is  an  intriguer 
of  a  low  order,  with  treason  in  his  hand,  an  ear  for  every 
rumour,  aiming  neither  high  nor  low.  Francesco  Maria  of 
Urbino,  a  wretched  aper  of  the  Duke  of  Valentinois,  gives 
the  dagger-thrust  as  nimbly  as  his  master,  but  that  is  all ;  he 
will  totter  on  his  legs  until  he  falls.  The  Medici  of  Florence 
would  not  last  three  days  if  they  did  not  reign  at  Rome  with 
the  Pope.  The  Venetians  live,  will  live,  will  be  strong, 
glorious,  powerful,  but  they  are  not  chrysalides  destined  to 
take  wings  strong  enough  to  rise  into  the  atmosphere  beyond 
the  middle  region.  Thus,  in  point  of  fact,  nothing  is  left  in 
Italy  but  three  powers :  the  Pope,  the  French,  and  the 
Spaniards. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  I  am  very  pleased  to  hear  you  talk. 
Well,  now  expound  to  us  what  is  your  view  of  each  of  these 
powers  and  whom  you  consider  likely  to  be  left  supreme. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  tell  you  once  more,  I  have  learnt  to  my 
cost  that  if  astrology  is  uncertain,  politics  are  scarcely  less  so. 
I  have  no  wish  to  play  the  prophet.  So  far  as  the  French  are 
concerned,  here  they  are,  for  the  moment,  overthrown,  driven 
out ;  with  the  exception  of  the  citadel  of  Milan  and  two  or 
three  hamlets,  they  have  lost  their  footing  in  Italy.  Their 
new  King,  M.  d'Angouleme,  seems  more  concerned  with  beating 
the  big  drum  and  amusing  himself  than  with  carrying  out 

240 


LEO   X. 

glorious  enterprises.  Hence  I  think  that  Pope  Leo  X.,  who 
detests  these  French,  not  only  through  having  been  their 
prisoner  at  Ravenna,  but  for  many  other  minor  reasons,  must 
regard  himself  as  being  rid  of  them. 

GRANACCI :  So  much  the  better !  I  am  a  good  Florentine, 
and  abhor  these  conceited  braggarts.  They  have  never  been 
frankly  either  with  the  Republicans  or  with  the  opposite 
party.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  the  Spaniards  ? 
MACHIAVELLI :  Their  King  Charles  is  quite  young ;  who 
knows  what  he  will  turn  out  to  be  ?  He  is  the  son  of  a  hand- 
some fellow  who  was  somewhat  of  a  nonentity,  and  of  a  poor 
madwoman.  A  bad  omen !  To  make  matters  worse,  as  he 
is  more  of  a  Fleming  than  a  Castilian,  and  Burgundian  and 
Austrian  to  boot,  his  interests  are  scattered  everywhere. 
Looking  at  the  sum  of  his  forces,  one  would  think  that  he 
was  immensely  powerful ;  but  the  separate  elements  do  not 
hold  together  and  are  liable  to  clash.  If  the  possessor  of  such 
scraps  wishes  to  guard  his  interests  carefully,  he  must  spend 
his  life  in  rushing  from  one  place  to  another.  IMoreover,  it 
will  not  be  easy  for  him  always  to  arrive  in  time.  To  go  from 
Valladolid  to  Bruges,  he  needs  the  permission  of  King  Francis. 
Then,  too,  there  arises  another  obstacle  in  the  shape  of  his 
own  ambition,  if  he  has  any.  When  his  grandfather,  the 
Emperor  ^laximilian,  dies,  young  Charles  will,  no  doubt, 
aspire  to  the  Imperial  crown.  You  can  already  see  the  con- 
flict ;  France,  too,  turns  her  gaze  to  this  quarter ;  England 
cherishes"  a  hope  of  it ;  the  Electors  have  their  projects.  .  .  . 
These  people  will  consume  each  other  ;  King  Charles,  already 
so  occupied  with  each  of  the  innumerable  rooms  of  his  own 
house,  will  become  the  fifth  of  a  band  of  rivals  ;  in  consequence, 
he  will  have  only  a  slight  authority  in  Italy,  and  from  that  I 
conclude  that  Pope  Leo  X.  will  reign  there  at  his  will.  I  do 
not  know  whether  my  calculations  deceive  me,  but  they  cannot 
be  far  wrong. 

U  2  241 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  But,  suppose  that,  by  some  chance, 
Francis  I.  were  a  better  man  than  you  think,  and  that  Charles, 
on  his  side,  lacked  neither  wit  nor  heart  ? 
MACHIAVELLI :  On  those  two  suppositions  we  can 
prophesy  nothinj:^  further.  All  will  depend  on  the  strength  of 
brain  and  appetite  possessed  by  these  two  rulers.  The 
impossible  may  become  an  everyday  occurrence.  ...  It  is 
not  often  that  great  princes  appear. 

GRANACCI :  You  are  right.  Nevertheless,  in  these  times, 
even  the  weak  have  strength ;  all  grows  on  a  large  scale,  and 
kings  must  needs  attain  greatness  more  easily  than  others. 
MACHIAVELLI:  I  have  met  in  my  life  more  incapables 
and  more  possessors  of  small  wits  than  I  had  reason  to  expect. 
You  will  therefore  allow  me  not  to  reckon  too  much  on  the 
blossoming  of  merit,  and  to  point  out  to  you  that,  at  this 
moment,  the  one  who  is  nearest  to  gaining  ever)'thing  is  the 
Pope. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  My  opinion  of  him  is  not  high. 
MACHIAVELLI :  Nor  mine,  either ;  I  regard  him  simply  as 
a  respectable  aristocrat,  of  easy  manners,  taking  care  of  his 
mind  as  he  takes  care  of  his  hands.  But,  just  as  with  the 
aforesaid  admirable  hands  he  possesses,  in  his  body,  a  pair  of 
big,  prominent,  goggling  eyes  that  see  nothing  (which  makes 
hira  resemble  Nero — with  whom  he  has  also  in  common  the 
trait  of  being  a  lover  of  all  curiosities) ;  so  in  his  mind,  which 
is  cultivated  with  such  care,  one  notices  defects  that  deform 
the  whole.  He  displays  exquisite  taste  in  everything,  and  he 
has  a  kind  heart.  He  talks  no  less  valiantly  to  the  vilest 
buffoons  than  to  Sadoleto  or  Ariosto ;  he  orders  frescoes  and 
statues  and  makes  Raphael  paint  pictures,  because  these  are 
expensive  trinkets,  and,  to  achieve  more  outward  glory,  the 
Pope  would  willingly  make  a  star  his  plaything ;  but  rest 
assured  that  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  prefers  a  hare  hunt  on 
his  estate  at  Magliana,  or  a  dainty  supper  at  the  Vatican,  to 

242 


LEO   X. 

the  contemplation  of  all  your  masterpieces.  At  his  suppers, 
they  serve  up  ball^  of  roast  hair  and  straw  paste  which  make 
the  guests  grimace,  to  the  exceeding  joy  of  the  Sovereign 
Pontiff,  while  a  vigorous  combat  of  burlesque  invective  brings 
to  light  all  the  talents  of  Evangelista  Tarasconi  and  of  Aretino. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  That  is  almost  what  I  have  just  said 
to  Granacci.  Nothing  can  be  expected  from  such  a  man. 
MACHLWELLI :  Pardon  me — all  things  considered,  events 
are  beginning  to  take  shape  under  his  hands  so  well  that, 
without  having  the  enthusiasm  of  Savonarola,  or  the  resolute 
ambition  of  the  Duke  of  Valentinois,  or  the  energy  of  Julius  II., 
and  all  the  while  that  he  plays  his  games  and  blows  his  soap- 
bubbles,  he  will  end  by  giving  us  a  united  Italy.  He  will 
retake  Naples,  a  fief  of  the  Church,  from  that  unhappy  Charles 
of  Spain,  who  does  not  know  how  to  keep  what  he  has — and 
he  cannot  fail,  so  easy  is  the  task,  to  keep  the  King  of 
England,  who  is  a  pedant,  a  scribbler,  and  a  blind  devotee  of 
the  Holy  See,  so  close  to  the  side  of  France,  that  Francis  I. 
will  never  dare  to  leave  his  country  in  order  to  come  and 
meddle  with  ours.  Then  Leo  will  seize  the  Milanese  and  keep 
it,  as  Julius  kept  the  Romagna. 

MICHAEL    ANGELO:    In   a   way   that   is   a  rather   fine 
prospect,  yet  it  does  not  enchant  me. 

MACHLWELLI:  Nor  me  either.  I  know  very  well  why! 
Italy  has  never  been  so  brilliant  as  to-day.  However,  this 
brightness  is  not  pure.  There  is  too  much  vice,  too  much 
corruption,  and  if  we  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  most  corrupt  of 
powers  and  under  the  sway  of  the  most  grasping  of  courts  that 
ever  existed,  Italy  will  without  doubt  be  delivered  from  the 
foreigner  and  united  in  one  whole ;  but,  before  a  few  years 
have  elapsed,  we  shall  see  her  as  exhausted  morally  as 
physically.  The  monks  and  the  priests  will  have  enervated 
her  beyond  hope  of  recovery. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  believe  you;  I  am  a  devoted  son 

243 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

of  Holy  Church ;  but  so  long  as  the  clerics  are  what  they  are, 
I  have  little  wish  for  them  as  rulers.  In  short,  we  live  in  a 
most  unhappy  age. 

MACHIAVELLI :  As  unhappy  as  can  be,  and  I  have  no 
hope  left  in  anything. 

GRANACCI :   May  heaven  take  pity  on  you  both !     If  we 
may  believe  you,  we  are  sinking  into  decadence.     Tell  me, 
Messer  Niccolo,  are  you  in  earnest?     Do  you  hold  forth  thus 
before  my  master  and  in  the  Sistine  chapel  ?     Have  you  ever 
known  a  greater  age  ?     Come,  Messer  Niccolo,  you  speak 
without  thinking.     As  for  me,  I  bless  heaven  every  day  for 
having  been  born  at  such  a  time.     When  I  talk  to  anyone,  I 
sometimes  pay  no  heed  to  what  he  answers  me — I  look  at  his 
features  and  say  to  myself — there  is  a  character  whose  name 
will  endure  on  some  page  of  history !     I  scent  in  the  air  a  per- 
fume of  ambrosia  and  immortality:  I  breathe  it  with  all  my 
power.     Everywhere  I  admire,  I  rejoice,  and  you,  you  both 
come   and    allege.  .  .  .  Away  with   you!    you    are   men    of 
saturnine  minds,  of  diseased  imaginations,  ingrates,  yes,  the 
worst  of  ingrates,  for  you  ought  to  show  yourself  more  thankful 
towards  God  for  the  great  things  which  he  has  given  you, 
each  after  his  own  fashion,  the  power  to  do. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  do  not  know  whether  I  do  great  things, 
but  what  I  am  quite  sure  of  is  that  if  the  most  reverend 
Cardinal  da  Bibbiena  had  not  this  morning  put  half-a-dozen 
crowns  into  my  hands,  I  should  not  have  the  wherewithal  to 
dine.     I  will  let  this  be  my  last  word,  and  so.  Master  Michael 
Angelo  and  my  dear  Granacci,  I  leave  you,  happy  to  have  seen 
you  and  wishing  you  both  continued  health. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Farewell,  friend  Messer  Niccolo.  See 
that  you  finish  your  Mandragora — it  is  your  masterpiece ! 


244 


LEO   X. 

ON   THE   PINCIAN   HILL. 

In  the  midst  of  the  groups  of  planes  and  cypresses,  on  the  turf,  are  seen 
ia  the  distance  gatherings  of  persons  of  different  conditions,  come  here 
to  walk  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  Citizens,  priests, 
monks,  women,  young  people,  children  ;  some  sitting  or  half  lying  on 
carpets  ;  others  walking  ;  the  former  eating  fruits  or  cakes,  the  latter 
gravely  conversing.  Bursts  of  laughter  are  heard.  The  weather  is 
glorious,  the  horizon  immense. 

In  the  midst  of  several  girls  and  young  men,  for  the  most  part 
crowned  with  flowers  and  richly  attired,  a  boy  of  twenty  is  reading 
verses. 

BOY: 

Star  of  my  heaven,  sorceress  divine, 

Thine  eyes,  where  fires  by  love  enkindled  play, 

Thy  lips,  fair  fruit  to  tempt  the  God  of  Wine, 
Thy  brow,  as  pure  as  is  the  dawn  of  day, 

Thy  hair,  each  curling  tress  of  ebon  fine. 

Thy  foot,  thy  hand,  that  draw  all  eyes  their  way, 

Thy  body,  limned  so  fair  that  every  line 

Had  needs  been  copied  by  the  Grecian's  clay, 

Thy  childlike  glee,  thy  openness  and  trust, 
The  charm  that's  sprinkled  like  some  jewel-dust 
O'er  thy  least  action,  O  beloved  maid ; 

What  worth  these  treasures — easy  'tis  to  write  them — 
Before  these  three  words — with  a  smile  to  light  them — 
"  I  love  thee !  " — had  those  words  been  ever  said  ? 
Laughter  and  applause  ;  a  girl  rises,  claps  her  hands  and  darts  towards 
the  poet. 

GIRL :  It's  for  mc,  Troile,  that  you  wrote  that?     For  me,  for 

me,  for  me  alone? 

BOY:  Upon  my  soul,  Giacinta,  it  is  assuredly  for  you  and  for 

no  other. 

GIRL:  Well,  come,  here  is  your  reward! 

Throws  herself  into  his  arms,  kisses  him,  and  puts  a  crown  on  his  head. 
ANOTHER  GIRL  :  As  you,  Emilio,  cannot  address  a  single 
verse  to  me,  you  will  at  least  have  enough  wit  to  tell  us  a 
story.     Sit  down  there,  and  speak — we  will  listen. 

245 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

EJMILIO :  I  hardly  know  what  to  tell  you. 

ALL  (clajiping  their  hands):  Come,  no  excuses;   a  story,  a 

story ! 

EMILIO :  Since  there  is  no  way  out  of  it,  know  that  once 

upon  a  time  there  lived  at  Verona  an  old  merchant  named 

Ser  Jacopo,  who  had  a  very  young  and  beautiful  wife.     His 

neighbour,  one  of  the  most  gallant  knights  of  the  town,  had 

formed  the  habit  of  looking  over  the  wall,  into  Ser  Jacopo's 

garden,  and (The  story  goes  on.) 

Three  citizens  pass,  walking  side  by  side. 
FIRST  CITIZEN :  I  am  perfectly  certain  of  what  I  say.     My 
son  Giulio  is  but  ten  years  old,  and  he  will  certainly  be  one 
of  the  lights  of  the  age.     That  is  Era  Filippo's  opinion.     He 
does  not  hide  it,  and  repeats  it  to  all  whom  he  meets. 
SECOND  CITIZEN :  My  son  Tomasso  is  quitd  the  equal  of 
your  son  Giulio,  and  he  is  only  nine,  not  a  day  more  ...  or 
rather,  yes,  eight  days  more,  for  he  was  born  on  the  14th  of 
June,  nine  years  ago,  and  we  are  now  at  the  22nd.     So  he  is 
nine  years  and  eight  days,  and  the  Padre  Roberto  exclaims 
to  me  every  morning:  Messer  Pompeo,  your  son  will  be  .  .  . 
v/hat  do  you  call  it,  Messer  Annibale  ? 
FIRST  CITIZEN  :  Will  be  one  of  the  lights  of  the  age! 
SECOND    CITIZEN:    That   is    exactly   what    the    Padre 
Roberto  says  to  me. 

THIRD  CITIZEN  :  Good  friends  and  neighbours,  I  congratu- 
late you  heartily.  Era  Filippo  and  Padre  Roberto  must  be 
men  of  great  renown. 

FIRST  CITIZEN  :  Era  Filippo  has  been  my  wife's  confessor, 
since  she  began  to  commit  her  first  sin !  We  have  every 
confidence  in  him.  I  should  like  to  know  if  he  could  be 
mistaken  on  such  a  point ! 

SECOND  CITIZEN  :  With  us  it  is  just  the  same.  When  I 
married,  the  Padre  Roberto  was  already,  as  it  were,  master  of 
the  house.  My  wife  would  not  buy  an  egg  without  asking  his 
advice,  and  when  she  is  in  a  bad  temper,  which  happens  fairly 
often,  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of  me  if  this  Padre 

246 


LOVE   SCKNE 


^0  face  page  346 


LEO   X. 

Roberto  were  not  there  to  soothe  her.  So  you  can  imagine 
that  when  he  says  what  he  says  of  my  son,  I  can  feel  assured 
that  it  is  true. 

FIRST  CITIZEN  :  I  realise  that  you  can.  As  for  me,  I  have 
two  quite  ordinary  sons ;  one  is  eighteen,  the  other  sixteen. 
I  shall  make  the  first  a  merchant  and  the  second  a  lawyer. 
SECOND  CITIZEN :  Pardon  me,  but  I  entirely  disapprove 
of  your  course.  Padre  Roberto  would  shrug  his  shoulders  if 
he  heard  you. 

FIRST  CITIZEN  :  So  would  Fra  Filippo.  I  am  glad  that  on 
this  point  he  is  at  one  with  Padre  Roberto.  He  would  not  for 
the  world  allow  our  boy  to  become  a  merchant  cr  a  lawyer. 
The  mere  idea  would  send  iiim  into  a  towering  rage. 
THIRD  CITIZEN  :  But  what,  then,  are  the  ideas  of  your 
worthy  clerics  as  regards  your  children  ? 

FIRST  CITIZEN  :   Ideas  full  of  wisdom.     My  son  will  be 
a  painter. 

SECOND  CITIZEN  :  And  mine  a  sculptor.     In  our  time  it 
is  only  artists  who  earn  a  heap  of  money  as  big  as  themselves, 
become  great  personages,  and  snap  their  fingers  at  the  world. 
THIRD  CITIZEN  :  It  is  true  that  at  this  moment  the  artists 
are  at  the  top  of  the  tree.     It  was  not  so  in  my  young  days. 
They  were  looked  upon  as  beggars  and  starvelings. 
FIRST  CITIZEN:  Beggars?  starvelings?     Pray  look  down 
there,  on  the  road,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
THIRD  CITIZEN  :  Well,  I  am  looking. 
FIRST  CITIZEN  -.  What  do  you  see? 
SECOND  CITIZEN  :    Ah,  yes  .  .  .  it's   true.  .  .  .  Tell  us, 
what  do  you  see  ? 

THIRD  CITIZEN  :  I  see  nothing  .  .  .  unless  it  be  two  lords 
mounted  on  richly-caparisoned  horses  and  followed  by  serving- 
men.     What  is  there  strange  in  that? 

FIR.ST  CITIZEN:  You  take  those  for  lords!  Wipe  the 
glasses  of  your  spectacles!  It  is  Mnstcr  Marc-Antonio 
Raimondi,  engraver,  and  Master  Giulio,  one  of  the  pupils  of 
Master  Raphael.     Neither  are  of  better  or  worse  middle-class 

24; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

families  than  1,  and  certainly  if  their  parents  had  made  them 
merchants  or  lawyers,  they  would  not  cut  such  a  dash. 
SECOND  CITIZEN:  Do  you  know  what  Master  Valeric 
Belli  earns  by  carving  little  heads  on  cameos?  And 
Masters  Bridone  and  Marchetto,  singers  and  guitar  players? 
And  Padre  Mariano,  who  at  one  meal  eats  four  hundred  eggs 
and  twenty  carp?  I  tell  you,  to  make  one's  mark  in  this 
world,  one  nmst  be  an  artist. 

THIRD  CITIZEN:  Doubtless;  but  it  is  not  everyone  who 
can  devote  himself  to  such  a  craft ;  a  certain  natural  talent 
is  needed,  and  for  my  part  I  frankly  confess  that  if  I  were 
compelled  to  swallow  twenty  carp  at  dinner  or  to  build  a 
cathedral,  I  should  be  hard  put  to  it, 

FIRST  CITIZEN :  That  is  only  because  you  lack  practice. 
Padre  Filippo  has  told  me  a  hundred  times  that  if  I  had  been 
taught  when  young  I  should  certainly  make  as  fine  statues 
in  marble  as  Master  Buonarotti  himself. 
SECOND  CITIZEN :  That  is  perfectly  true.  My  son  shall 
be  a  sculptor  and  dine  with  the  Pope.  There  is  no  sensible 
father  of  a  family  who  does  not  nowadays  look  upon  things 
as  we  do  ;  my  opinion  is  that  the  arts  are  the  finest  thing  in 
the  world,  and  I  am  resolved  to  set  old-fashioned  prejudices 
at  naught  and  march  with  the  times. 


Seated  under  a  tree,  tvvo  Dominicans  and  an  Augustinian  monk  ;  two 
Cardinals  pass,  talking  and  laughing,  mounted  on  two  magnificently 
harnessed  mules  ;  at  their  side,  on  a  Spanish  jenny,  a  Venetian  noble 
dressed  in  black  velvet ;  numerous  gentlemen-in-waiting  and  servants 
in  fine  Uveries, 

FIRST  DOMINICAN :  I  do  not  know  these  most  reverend 
signers.     Do  you  know  their  names  ? 

AUGUSTINIAN:  Really,  you  do  not  know  Cardinals 
Sadoleto  and  Bibbiena?  The  black-bearded  gentleman  who 
accompanies  them  is  Signor  Andrea  Navagiero,  patrician  of 
Venice,  no  less  famous  as  man  of  letters  than  they  are  them- 
selves. 
SECOND    DOMINICAN:    I    am    curious    to    know   what 

248 


LEO   X. 

Sadoleto  and  Bibbiena  have  done  in  the  way  of  pious  works 
to  deserve  their  cardinal's  hats. 

AUGUSTINIAN :  The  first,  Father,  one  must  render  him 
this  justice,  has  at  least  done  no  great  harm.  He  is  a  good 
Latinist ;  the  roundnesses  of  his  Latin  period  are  admired 
almost  as  much  as  those  of  Bembo.  A  good  fellow,  without 
malice ;  so  long  as  he  is  allowed  to  amuse  himself,  he  hurts 
no  one. 

FIRST  DOMINICAN:  Bibbiena  I  know  from  what  well- 
educated  people  have  told  me  of  him.  As  to  his  morals  there 
is  nothing  good  to  be  said.  He  loves  the  gay  and  easy  life, 
and  has  written  the  Calandra — a  fine  comedy,  but  not  the 
work  of  a  theologian.  Pope  Julius  11.  made  this  man  his 
confidant ;  Pope  Leo  has  always  made  him  his,  so  that  there 
are  hardly  any  negotiations  or  affairs  of  State  in  which  he  has 
not  a  finger.  When  he  has  time  to  spare,  he  spends  it  in  the 
studio  of  Master  Raphael,  his  great  friend,  where  more 
scandalous  than  edifying  things  are  said  and  done. 
SECOND  DOMINICAN:  What  arrogance!  What  pride! 
What  a  display  of  luxuries!  Where  can  they  go,  these 
worldings,  surrounded  by  their  slaves  ?  What  is  their  purpose, 
these  proud  Babylonian  satraps,  in  the  midst  of  their  gay  talk 
and  tlieir  bursts  of  laughter?  Assuredly,  they  do  not  go  to 
chant  the  offices! 

AUGUSTINIAN  :  Pardon  me,  reverend  Father,  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  they  do.  They  chant  the  offices.  ...  I  mean 
their  offices.  A  brilliant  assembly  of  wits,  poets,  artists, 
ladies,  prelates  and  lords  is  assembling  to-day  with  the  banker 
of  Siena,  Agostino  Chigi ;  and  there,  they  are  proposing  to 
celebrate  a  sacrifice  to  the  goddess  Venus,  with  doves,  milk, 
flowers,  sonnets,  madrigals,  strings  of  Sapphic  and  Adonic 
verses  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  the  vulgar  tongue,  and  not  one  of 
the  customary  rites  will  be  accomplished  without  the  authority 
of  some  great  poet.  Signer  Gabriele  Merino,  who  has  just 
been  made  Archbishop  of  Bari  because  of  the  excellence  of 
his  voice,  will  sing  the  epodcs  and  play  the  seven-stringed  lyre  ; 

24g 


THE   RENAISSANCE 

Francesco  Paolosa,  tlie  new  Archdeacon,  will  be  heard  on  tlie 
viol  d'araore  ;  Piero  Aaron,  Florentine,  Knight  of  St.  John  and 
Canon  of  Rimini,  will  accompany  the  tj^oddess's  praises  on  his 
rebec  ;  there  will  be  a  quantity  of  flute-i)layers  for  the  concert, 
and  the  auditors  will  be  crowned  with  roses.  The  altar  is  in  white 
marble  with  yellow  veins  ;  Girolamo  Santa  Croce  of  Naples, 
in  carving  it,  lias  produced  a  miracle.  The  feast  that  ends  the 
ceremony  will  be  of  an  abundance  and  a  sumptuousness  worthy 
of  the  most  illustrious  epicures  of  antiquity.  Leo  X.  is  to  be 
present  at  the  ceremony,  but  under  a  mask.  I  hope  you  are 
now  re-assured  as  to  the  devoutness  of  our  Cardinals  ? 
FIRST  DOMINICAN:  How  scandalous!  It  is  clear  that 
the  ancient  paganism,  aided  by  universal  degeneration,  is  again 
taking  hold  of  us  on  all  sides.  One  hears  of  nothing  but 
events  similar  to  those  you  describe.  Here  they  sacrifice  to 
Apollo,  there  to  Pomona ;  at  Venice,  they  have  not  been 
ashamed  to  descend  to  the  god  of  gardens.*  All  is  over 
with  decency,  and  I  know  not  what  is  to  become  of  faith. 
AUGUSTINIAN:  Faith  will  be  hke  the  star,  darkened 
by  rain-clouds,  but  nevertheless  shining  in  the  sky. 
SECOND  DOMINICAN  :  The  eclipse,  I  fear,  will  last  a  long 
tim^e.  Our  Father  Savonarola  wished  to  fight  the  scourge, 
and  perished  in  the  attempt.  Who  will  triumph  where  this 
great  saint  found  defeat  ? 

AUGUSTINIAN  -.  Perhaps  a  far  lesser  saint.  We  must  not 
be  discouraged,  we  must  not  give  up  the  struggle.  Good  should 
not  keep  silent  in  the  face  of  evil. 

FIRST  DOMINICAN  :  Yet  it  does  keep  silent.  Since  the 
death  of  our  blessed  brother,  no  one  raises  a  voice,  and  the 
Antichrist  wins  the  day. 

AUGUSTINIAN :     Let    him    beware !  .  .  .  Come    nearer, 
Fathers,  and  let  us  speak  low ;    I  have  important  news  to 
tell.     Come  to  this  bench,  apart  .  .  .  there  .  .  .  now  we  are 
all  three  safe. 
SECOND  DOMINICAN:  Before  telling  us  anything,  and 

*  Priapus. — Tr. 
250 


LEO   X. 

before  arousing  the  hopes  which  you  seem  to  wish  to  excite  in 
us,  pray  look  at  the  shameful  scene  that  is  being  enacted  a 
little  way  off.  Do  ycu  see,  in  the  grass,  those  Franciscans 
fighting  with  porters  and  the  girls  who  follow  them?  If  I 
am  not  mistaken,  we  can  hear  one  of  these  infamous  monks 
celebrating,  in  rhymes  as  coarse  as  himself,  the  virtues  of 
Montefiascone  wine. 

AUGUSTINIAN :  Things  have  become  so  bad  that  they 
must  take  a  turn  for  the  better.  Listen  to  me. 
SECOND  DOMINICAN  :  My  heart  is  scarcely  open  to  hope. 
AUGUSTINIAN :  We  have  received  singular  letters  at  the 
convent  from  our  brothers  in  Germany. 
FIRST  DOMINICAN:  What  has  happened? 
AUGUSTINIAN  :  In  our  house  at  Wittenberg — a  big  German 
city  containing  a  fairly  learned  University — lives  a  doctor,  a 
certain  Dom  Martin  Luther,  professor  of  civil  law,  one  of  the 
best-versed  men  in  holy  letters  known  to  our  age.  This  great 
man  has  just  declaimed  in  public  and  with  admirable  courage 
against  the  sale  of  indulgences.  What  is  more,  he  has  so 
learnedly  quoted  the  texts  and  so  profoundly  moved  his 
audiences  by  the  boldness  of  his  language  regarding  the 
abuses  which  we  were  just  now  lamenting,  that  first  of  all  his 
colleagues,  then  the  people,  and  (this  is  indeed  important) 
his  Electoral  Grace  the  Duke  of  Saxony,  have  placed  them- 
selves under  his  guidance.  That  is  what  I  wanted  to  confide 
to  you. 

FIRST  DOMINICAN:  And  have  not  the  Franciscans, 
collectors  of  the  profits  of  indulgences,  entered  a  complaint 
here? 

AUGUSTINIAN  :  They  have.  We  naturally  supported  our 
brother,  and  I  am  assured  that  the  Floly  Father,  feeling  much 
esteem  for  Dom  Martin's  talent,  is  not  inclined  to  condemn 
him.  I  conclude  from  this  that  Heaven  is  spenking  to  tlic 
Sovereign  Pontiff's  heart,  and  may  lead  liim  to  reflection—  and 
these"  hopes  make  mc  tremble. 
FIRST  DOMINICAN  :  May  you  succeed  in  your  efforts,  dear 

251 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

son  of  St.  Augustine!     The  closest  bonds  unite  us  to  you! 

Your  glorious  father  inspired  our  St.  Thomas,  and  if,  after 

the  lamentable  death  of  Savonarola,  martyred  by  the  brothers 

of  St.  Francis,  we  have  to  see  your  worthy  Luther  exposed 

to  the  malice  of  these  same  persecutors,  tliink  how  our  hearts 

will  suffer  in  unison  with  }'Ours ! 

SECOND  DOMINICAN  :  No,  Father !     Do  not  give  way  to 

discouragement ;  even  in  the  midst  of  the  direst  storm,  God 

supports  his  Church.     Let  us  hope  that  the  Augustinians  will 

achieve  the  salvation  of  religion,  and  let  us  console  ourselves 

for  the  thought  that  we  have  not  succeeded  ourselves  by 

reflecting  that  at  any  rate  we  have  tried. 

AUGUSTINIAN :  The  blood  of  your  martyr  will  produce 

a  rich  harvest. 

FIRST  DOMINICAN:  The  Angelus  is  ringing! 

All  the  bells  of  Rome  begin  to  ring  ;  the  numerous  groups  assembled 
on  the  Monte  Pincio  stop  talking  ;  the  women  on  their  knees,  the 
men  bare-headed,  make  the  .sign  of  the  cross  and  recite  the 
angelic  Salutation. 

AUGUSTINIAN  :  Let  us  pray  like  this  crowd,  and,  knowing 
what  we  must  ask  of  heaven,  let  us  add  this  brief  supplication : 
"  Most  Holy  Mother  of  God,  see  that  the  reform  of  the  Church 
be  given  to  us,  for,  without  this  remedy,  all  is  over  with 
Christendom ! " 

The  three  monks  kneel  and  remain  absorbed  in  prayer. 


252 


LEO  X. 

MILAN. 

The  Ducal  palace. — A  room  richly  decorated  with  carved  chests,  panophes, 
vases  of  gold  and  silver ;  seated  at  a  sumptuous  table,  King  Francis  I. 
sups  gaily,  in  the  company  of  his  mistress  Madame  Marie  Gaudin, 
Florimon'd  Robertet,  Clement  Marot,  with  M.  de  Piennes,  M,  de 
Lautrec,  and  some  other  courtiers.  Squires,  pages  in  the  royal  livery, 
walk  from  one  place  to  another,  offering  dishes  to  the  guests  and 
serving  drink. 

THE  KING  :  No,  the  Pope  did  not  expect  to  see  me  come  so 
soon!  I  have  swooped  down  on  Italy  as  rapidly  as  my  pre- 
decessors ;  but  they  soon  went  back  again,  whereas  I  shall  not 
let  myself  be  turned  out. 

DE  Lx\UTREC:  I  drink  to  the  invincible  Mars,  to  the 
knight  of  knights ! 

THE  KING :  Thanks,  Lautrec.  Besides,  the  times  are 
changed ;  I  will  not  have  us  French  treated  any  longer  as 
barbarians  and  know-nothings.  Why  could  not  we,  as  w-ell 
as  the  people  on  this  side  of  the  Alps,  acquire  fine  manners, 
abandon  all  vulgar  ways,  and  grow  used  to  the  study  of 
letters  ? 

MAROT  :  Knowing  how  to  wield  a  sword  and  sport  with  a 
lance  is  no  reason  for  playing  the  part  of  a  brute  all  one's  life ! 
THE  KING  :  Assuredly  not ;  but,  on  my  word  as  a  gentle- 
man !  we  shall  have  a  hard  task  in  driving  this  truth  into  the 
thick  skulls  of  our  comrades.  Except  you  who  are  assembled 
here  to-night,  and  a  few  others,  our  French  are  a  pack  of  clumsy 
clowns  who  can  learn  nothing !  The  more  ignorant  they  are, 
the  more  highly  they  value  themscKcs.  The  Count 
Castiglione  said  so  to  mc  the  other  evening,  and  he  was  not 
wrong. 

ROBERTET  :  He  was  only  too  right.  Did  Your  Majesty 
notice  the  smile  which  passed  the  lips  of  the  Duchess  of  Ferrara 
the  other  day,  when  you  introduced  to  her  that  Lord  of  Picardy, 
who  was  so  eager  to  tell  her  why  the  St.  Maclon  of  his  village 
church  was  far  more  beautiful  tlian  the  masterpiece  of  Ghiberti 
that  was  offered  to  our  admiration  ? — "  Death  of  Christ !  "  cried 
the   honest   soldier   as   he   twirled   his   moustache,   "our    St. 

253 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Maclon  is  all  painted  in  colour  from  head  to  foot,  whereas  your 
statue  is  only  a  white  stone !  " 

THE  KING  :  I  confess,  Robertet,  that  when  I  heard  those 
words  and  saw  Aladain  Eucrezia's  look,  I  felt  myself  redden 
up  to  my  eyes.  In  truth,  we  are  nothing  but  clods!  But  I 
will  change  all  that.  I  most  certainly  nitend  that  France 
shall  become  as  beautiful  as  Italy  and  no  less  adorned. 
What  has  existed  up  to  now  in  our  kingdom  we  will  destroy 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  Paris  and  my  other  noble  cities  shall 
all  display  to  the  sun  as  many  beautiful  buildings  and  master- 
pieces of  art  as  are  to  be  seen  on  this  side  of  the  Alps.  Away 
with  our  old  cathedrals,  our  castles  of  ancient  time,  and 
all  the  coarse  practices  of  our  forefathers !  If  God  grants  me 
life,  I  warrant  you  we  shall  not  cut  less  of  a  figure  in  the  world 
by  our  services  to  Apollo  and  his  nine  lovely  companions  than 
we  have  done  hitherto  by  our  services  to  the  god  of  war,  and 
perhaps  also  the  goddess  of  love.  What  think  you  of  that, 
madam  ? 

MARIE  GAUDIN  (in  low  tones) :  Ah,  Sire,  how  well  your 
Majesty  can  turn  charming  phrases,  and  how  your  words  fall 
into  the  ear  like  a  delicious  morsel  for  the  mind ! 
THE  KING:  Flatteress!  .  .  .  Who  w^as  that  trim  gallant 
who  was  seen  going  into  your  rooms  this  morning? 
MARIE  GAUDIN:  Tremble,  Sire,  it  was  an  enemy  of  the 
infidel ! 

THE  KING :  In  that  case  I  have  nothing  to  fear.  .  .  .  But 
who  was  it? 

MARIE  GAUDIN:  I  tell  you.  ...  A  Knight  of  St.  John. 
THE  KING :  This  bold  champion  finds  it  more  pleasant  to 
visit  fair  ladies  than  to  go  in  quest  of  the  Turks. 
MARIE  GAUDIN :  You  declare  sometimes  that  it  is  far 
more  dangerous.  .  .  .  Who  tells  you  that  the  cruelty  is  less  ? 
THE  KING :  Upon  my  honour,  you  puzzle  me ! 
MARIE  GAUDIN:  Monsieur  de  Lautrec!  .  .  .  Monsieur  de 
Lautrec!  .  .  .  The    King  is  jealous.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  of 
whom? 

254 


LEO-X. 

THE  KING :  God  condemn  me  if  I  am  jealous ! 

DE  L AUTRE C :  One  might  be  so  for  a  less  worthy  cause. 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  Yes,  the  King  is  jealous  of  a  Knight  of 

St   John  who   came   to   my   rooms   this   morning — and    the 

gallant  left  me  two  pledges ! 

THE  KING :  Two  pledges  ?  .  .  .  His  heart  and  .  .  . 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  His  heart,  was,  I  think,  thrown  into  the 

bargain ;    there  was  no  question  of  it ;    and  as  I  am  in  an 

indiscreet  mood,   I    will  confess  all   to  you:   the   handsome 

messenger  came  to  me  not  on  his  own  account,  but  for  the 

sake  of  another. 

THE  KING:  Of  whom? 

MARIE    GAUDIN    (laughing):    Of    another,    I    tell    you, 

inquisitive  that  you  are  !     Do  you  think  that  I  want  to  tell  all  ? 

DE  PIENNES :  Behold  our  lord  on  tenterhooks. 

THE  KING :  Devil  take  me  if  you  speak  the  truth !     I  care 

as  httle  for  the  sender  as  for  the  envoy  ...  for  the  master 

as  for  the  valet.  .  .  .  Whoever  had  an  idea  of  conveying  love 

letters  through  a  Knight  of  St.  John  ? 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  had  received  a 

love    letter.  .  .  .  Yet    you    guess    right,    which    proves    the 

subtlety  of  your  mind.  .  .  .  But  I  have  not  yet  confessed  all ! 

,  .  .  V/ait — don't  let  your  wits  wander !  .  .  .  look ! 

She  puts  a  case  on  the  table  and  takes  a  paper  which  she  waves  in 
the  air. 

GUESTS  (all  at  once) :  Let  us  see !     Let  us  see ! 

THE  KING  (taking  the  box) :  You  will  allow  me,  gentlemen, 

to  be  the  first  to  look  ?     I  am  a  trifle  interested,  I  believe,  and 

am  showing  myself  indulgent.     To  begin  with,  the  case  is 

charming  .  .  .  ivory,  carved  and  inlaid  with  silver  and  gold. 

.  .  .  These  turquoises  and  rubies  are  very  fmc.  ...  A  prettily 

chiselled  key.  .  .  .  Must  it  be  opened? 

MARIE  GAUDIN  :  How  timid  you  arc !  .  .  .  Open,  you  are 

permitted! 

THE   KING:   I  obey.  .  .  Ah,  belly  of  Mahomet!     It's  most 

gallant!  .  .  .  Yes,  it's  most  gallant,  one  must  admit!     Only 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

Italians  would  do  things  in  this  way  and  ofTcr  presents  to 
ladies  in  so  graceful  a  fashion !  Look  gentlemen — it's  the 
Pope's  portrait  set  in  great  diamonds. 

MARIE  GAUDIN:  I  admire  the  portrait,  but  I  am  not 
insensible  to  the  frame  either. 

MAROT :  Be  sure,  madam,  that  His  Holiness  foresaw  that! 
ROBERTET  :  What  otherwise  is  the  use,  pray,  of  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  Holy  Ghost? 

THE  KING  :  Was  this  what  the  Knight  of  St.  John  brought? 
MARIE  GAUDIN  :  Yes,  with  this  letter.  .  .  .  You  deserve 
not  to  have  it  given  you.  .  .  .  You  did  not  deign  to  be 
impatient  even  for  a  moment ! 

THE  KING  :  Is  there  harm  in  believing  blindly  in  the  loyalty 
of  the  loved  one  ? 

MARIE  GAUDIN  :  I  should  be  a  fine  sort  of  a  fool  if  I 
decked  myself  in  that  virtue!  There!  ,  .  .  read! 
THE  KING  (opening  the  letter):  "To  the  noble  and 
illustrious  lady,  Madame  Marie  Gaudin  .  .  .  our  beloved 
daughter  in  Christ."  ...  ah,  wait  until  I  have  read  it  first.  .  .  . 
The  Holy  Father  praises  your  beauty  .  .  .  then  your 
virtue.  .  . 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  He  might  have  dispensed  with  that  last 
point. 

THE   KING  :    Next,  he   acquaints  you  with  his  desire  to 
recover  Parma  and  Piacenza,  and  begs  you  to  ask  me  to  give 
them  back.  ...  If  you  will  pardon  my  saying  so,  the  inter- 
cession will  not  be  of  much  use  to  him. 
MARIE  GAUDIN  :  I  hope  it  will  not ;  but  the  diamonds  are 
beautiful,  are  they  not,  Master  Clement  ? 
MAROT:  Alas,  madam,  less  beautiful  than  your  eyes! 
THE  KING  :  W^ill  you  be  silent,  serpent  ?     In  a  word,  our 
poor  Pope  tries  to  repair  the  torn  meshes  of  his  net  by  means 
of  the  most  charming  hands  in  the  world.  .  .  .  He  knows  that 
these  little  fingers  hold  my  arms  captive. 
MARIE    GAUDIN:     Really?     The    arms    that    fought    so 
valiantly  with  the  sword,  the  other  day,  at  Marignano  ? 

256 


LEO   X. 

THE  KING  :  Yes,  this  mere  little  finger,  which  I  kiss  with 
your  permission,  could  strike  me  down  more  quickly  and  effec- 
tively than  the  halberds  of  the  Swiss,  and  nevertheless.  .  .  . 
MARIE  GAUDIN :  And  as  my  paladin  is  so  courteous,  I 
expect  him  to  confirm  what  I  declared  this  morning  to  the 
envoy  of  the  lioly  Father. 

THE  KING  :  What  did  you  declare  ?  You  frighten  me. 
MARIE  GAUDIN  :  I  said  to  the  Knight  of  St.  John:  "Sir, 
if  the  King,  in  his  filial  respect  for  the  Church,  felt  inclined  to 
comply  with  the  Pope's  wish  and  restore  him  Parma  and 
Piacenza — which  his  predecessor,  King  Louis,  would  never 
agree  to  do — and  if  by  chance  the  King  granted  me  the  honour 
of  asking  my  opinion,  I  should  throw  myself  at  my  lord's  feet 
and  entreat  him  never  to  yield  a  jot  of  his  kingly  rights."  .  .  . 
And  as  he  was  somewhat  astonished  at  the  liveliness  of  my 
language,  I  handed  him  the  case  and  the  letter,  but  he  refused 
to  take  it  back,  and  took  his  leave  with  profound  obeisances. 
GUESTS:  Well  answered!  Bravely  done!  Long  live 
Madame  Marie  Gaudin ! 

THE  KING  (whispers)  :  To-morrow  you  shall  have  the  pearls 
you  covet,  and  I  promise  to  pay  for  the  estate  which  you  are 
buying  in  Touraine, 

MARIE  GAUDIN  :  Sire,  it  is  needless.  ...  I  could  not  love 
you  more  dearly !  Have  you  bought  Da  Vinci's  "  Gioconda  "  ? 
THE  KING:  Yes,  and  at  Florence  I  have  bidden  Master 
Andrea  del  Sarto  obtain  for  me  all  the  masterpieces  that 
come  under  his  ken.  The  King  of  Spain,  I  know,  has  the 
same  aspirations  as  I ;  but,  be  sure,  my  friends,  I  will  not  yield 
to  him  on  this  ground  any  more  than  on  others.  After  the 
death  of  Maximilian — an  event  that  we  cannot  have  long  to 
wait  for — Charles  will  aspire  to  the  Imperial  crown ;  on  my 
word  as  a  gentleman,  it  is  I  who  shall  have  it !  I  have  taken 
all  the  necessary  steps.  The  son  of  Joanna  the  Mad  also 
wants  to  carry  matters  with  a  high  hand  in  Italy ;  I  will  twist 

X  2  25; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

his  anil  for  him!     lie  wishes  to  gain  a  reputation  for  hking 

men  of  learning  and  deserving  their  praises ;   I  shall  outstrip 

him  in  this  sphere,  and  the  glory  will  remain  with  me.     Ha! 

it  would  be  fine  to  see  Salamanca  more  learned  than  the 

University  of  Paris. 

MAROT :  I  weep  for  joy !     France  has  never  known  such  a 

monarch !     Your  name,  Sire,  will  be  illustrious  down  to  the 

last  ages  of  mankind ! 

THE  KING  :  Ah,  my  friends,  may  God  hear  you  and  raise 

me  above  all  my  rivals !    Glory — yes,  I  crave  for  glory  I    Much 

glory  and  much  joy,  much  gaiety  and  much  pleasure,  and  more 

than  much  of  all  that  adds  grace  to  life !     Splendour,  brilliance, 

fame,  love — more  love  than  the  heart  can  hold,  infinite  love, 

high,  high  above  our  heads ! 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  Long  live  the  King ! 

ALL :  Long  live  the  King ! 

THE  KING :  As  for  His  Holiness  the  Pope,  my  fair  child, 

my  dear  friends,  much  good  may  his  advances  do  him !     The 

days  are  over  when  by  terrifying  the  nations  he  could  bend 

their  princes. 

ROBERTET :  Did  we  not  see  your  predecessor,  King  Louis, 

excommunicated'  by  the  late  Pope  Julius,  and  none  the  worse 

for  it  ? 

THE  KING :  We  did !     None  of  our  subjects  grew  restive 

No  one  troubles  any  more  about  the  Pope.     Men  know  what 

the  Papal  Court  is  worth,  and  how  little  its  priests  resemble 

the  Apostles.     Leo  X.  demands  from  Christians  neither  faith, 

hope,  nor  charity,  but  their  purses,  and  I  am  resolved  to  check 

his  extortions. 

DE  LAUTREC :  I  would  rather  see  money  in  the  pockets 

of  the  King  and  his  servants  than  in  those  of  the  cardinals. 

ROBERTET :  No  rational  man  thinks  otherwise. 

MARIE  GAUDIN :  Nor  rational  woman  either. 

258 


LEO   X. 

THE    KING:    Upon  my  honour!     We  are  quite  as  good 

at  making  the  florins  leap  from  my  people's  pockets  as  are 

the  Borgia,  the  Rovere,  or  the  Aledici !     But  do  you  know 

that  the  Germans  also  are  beginning  to  grow  quite  angry 

with  the  Papal  tax-gatherers?     I  am  curious  to  know  what 

my  brother  Charles  thinks  of  the  rumblings  at  Wittenberg. 

DE  L AUTRE  C  :  Something  foolish,  if  he  does  not  take  your 

Majesty's  advice. 

THE  KING  :  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  see  the  Church  reduced 

to  the  modest  way  of  life  enjoined  by  the  Gospel. 

MARIE  GAUDLN  :  The  Pope  ought  to  give  you  the  beautiful 

things  of  which  he  has,  after  all,  no  real  need.     You  would  give 

us  a  share,  Sire,  would  you  not  ? 

THE    KING:     Upon    my   honour!     I    should    never   keep 

anything  for  myself.     All  for  }'ou,  my  beauty,  and  for  my 

friends ! 

MARIE  GAUDIN  :  I  only  want  your  heart.     To  j-our  health, 

my  Lord ! 

ALL:  Long  live  the  King!     A  thousand  years,  and  more! 


259 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


ROME. 


A  room  in  the  Vatican. — Leo  X.  seated  near  a  window  ;  Cardinal  da 
Bibbiena,  Cardinal  liembo,  Cardinal  Sadoleto.  At  the  back  of  the 
room,  near  the  door,  Karl  von  Maltitz,  Saxon  nobleman,  waiting  to 
be  told  to  come  forward. 

LEO  X. :  I  shall  attend  to  this  Wittenberg  affair  myself,  and 
I  hope  to  direct  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  put  an  end  to  the 
absurdities  by  which  it  has  been  complicated.  This  Luther, 
against  whom  the  Franciscans  declaim  so  loudly,  is  no  fool ;  he 
is  not  an  unlettered  monk,  as  most  of  them  are.  He  has  wit, 
learning  and  reason.  He  writes  to  me  in  a  most  polite  tone, 
and  I  shall  support  him  against  the  Tetzels,  the  Ecciuses,  and 
all  that  troop  of  ridiculous  fanatics.  Such  men  are  trying  to 
kindle  a  fire  in  Germany.  I  will  not  have  it ! 
BIBBIENA :  Your  Holiness  appears  to  me  to  take  the  path 
of  justice  and  expediency. 

LEO  X. :  Rest  assured  of  that.  There  is  no  religious  ques- 
tion at  issue  here  ;  it  is  purely  a  formal  difficulty.  Our  people 
have  adopted  crooked  ways  to  obtain  money,  and  I  shall  put 
our  people  in  the  wrong. 

SADOLETO :  If  your  Holiness'  predecessors  had  always 
acted  on  such  wise  principles,  we  should  have  no  occasion  to 
deplore  the  lamentable  stories  of  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of 
Prague. 

LEO  X. :  And,  above  all,  of  Savonarola.  You  may  be  sure 
that  I  shall  not  allow  that  to  begin  again.  This  Fra  Girolamo 
who,  after  all,  was  but  an  energumen,  an  enemy  of  my  house, 
they  have  succeeded  in  making  a  saint  through  the  absurd 
cruelty  with  which  they  treated  him.  Martin  Luther  will  not 
obtain  from  my  hand  the  honour  of  martyrdom. 
BEMBO  :  This  good  Father  writes  in  an  admirable  style. 
LEO  X. :  I  have  the  greatest  distaste  for  the  susceptibilities 
of  the  convent  and  the  sacristy.  The  Pope  is  a  great  prince, 
do  not  lose  sight  of  that  truth  ;  in  a  few  years  the  only  powers 
left  on  earth,  beside  him,  will  be  the  Emperor,  the  Kings  of 
France  and  England,  and  the  Turks.     The  other  sovereigns 

260 


LEO   X. 

will  be  but  rich  lords  without  authority.  Thus  it  is  important 
that  the  Pope  should  not  guide  his  conduct  by  tlie  opinions  and 
warnings  of  monks.  Tell  Herr  von  Maltitz  to  come  forward. 
SADOLETO  :  Come  forward,  Herr  von  Maltitz.  His  Holiness 
summons  you. 

VON  MALTITZ :  I  am  at  his  Holiness'  orders,  and  crave 
the  honour  of  kissing  his  feet. 

LEO  X.  (making  the  sign  of  the  Cross  over  him) :  Herr  von 
Maltitz,  we  are  old  acquaintances.  You  have  served  me  well. 
The  captains-general  of  the  Church  have  brought  me  such 
favourable  reports  of  your  exploits,  your  talents,  and  your 
loyalty,  that  in  an  important  affair  like  the  one  I  have  to  com- 
municate to  you,  I  considered  it  suitable  to  employ  no  other 
devoted  servant  than  yourself. 

VON  MALTITZ  :  Most  Holy  Father,  this  moment  rewards 
me  beyond  all  my  merits. 

LEO  X. :  For  the  commission  that  I  am  about  to  give  you  I 
need  a  warrior  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  supple  courtier  and  a 
scholar.  I  can  find  these  three  personalities  in  you,  and  for 
that  I  bless  my  good  fortune. 

VON  MALTITZ :  All  that  hes  in  my  power  is  assuredly  at 
your  Holiness    service. 

LEO  X. :  You  will  go  on  my  behalf  to  your  natural  Lord, 
Duke  Frederick  of  Saxony.  He  is  a  prince  of  outstanding 
wisdom,  and  I  am  happy  to  know  that  he  is  respected  by  all 
wise  monarchs  and  statesmen.  You  will  tell  him  that  I  am 
pleased  to  see  him  grant  protection  to  our  dear  son  in  Christ, 
Martin  Luther.  This  Augustinian  monk  is  a  most  learned 
doctor;  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  harassed  by  clumsy  and 
indiscreet  persons,  such  as  the  inquisitor  Tetzel,  Eccius,  the 
professor  Hoffman  and  others  appear  to  be.  You  will  beg 
His  Electoral  Highness  to  put  you  into  communication  with 
Dom  Martin,  to  intervene  between  us  and  the  good  Father 
so  that  the  agreement  may  easily  come  about.  We  must  not 
have  evilly  disposed  persons  continuing  to  injure  the  reputa- 
tion of  so  clever  a  man  by  spreading  a  report  that  he  is  falhng 

261 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

from  obedience,  which  I  know  him  to  be  quite  incapable  of 
doing ;  and  so  as  to  testify  to  the  august  Elector,  by 
irrefragable  evidence,  all  my  fatherly  affection,  you  will  deliver 
to  His  Highness  the  Golden  Rose.  I  ordered  one  for  him 
expressly. 

VON  M ALTITZ :  The  Elector,  my  master,  will  certainly  feel 
boundless  gratitude. 

LEO  X. :  Do  not  fail  to  convince  him  firmly,  and  Dom  Martin 
as  well,  that  I  have  no  desire  to  raise  foolish  quarrels  or  acri- 
monious disputes.  The  Holy  Father  has  learnt  that  many 
abuses  have  crept  into  the  opinions  held  with  more  or  less 
reason  by  doctors  whose  orthodoxy  is  perhaps  not  altogether 
above  suspicion.  Let  us  settle  our  differences  without  noise 
and  in  a  spirit  of  mutual  charity. 

VON  MALTITZ:  Probably  if  we  go  to  work  in  this  way, 
the  difficulties  will  vanish.     Your  Holiness  breathes  upon  them 
so  gently  that  not  the  slightest  irritation  can  remain. 
LEO  X. :  Cardinal  Sadoleto,  give  me  the  two  letters  which 
are  on  that  table. 

SADOLETO :  Here  they  are,  Most  Holy  Father. 
LEO  X. :  I  hand  them  over  to  you,  Herr  von  Maltitz.  One  is 
addressed  to  Herr  Georg  Spalatin,  the  other  to  the  worthy 
Master  Degenhard  Pfeffinger.  Among  your  Sovereign's 
counsellors,  I  know  none  who  deserve  so  much  consideration. 
VON  MALTITZ :  They  merit  such  an  honour,  perhaps,  by 
their  respect  for  the  Apostolic  See  and  their  devotion  to  your 
sacred  person. 

LEO  X. :  I  know,  I  know,  Herr  von  Maltitz.  You  will  beg 
them,  in  my  name,  to  be  good  enough  to  show  the  Elector 
once  more  the  real  point  at  issue.  It  is  essential  that  neither 
he  nor  Dom  Martin  should  be  in  error  about  it.  True,  there 
has  been  some  abuse  in  the  sale  of  indulgences,  and  above  all, 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  irregularities  have  crept  into  the 
way  of  procedure.  Let  me  hear  of  suitable  remedies,  and  I 
am  ready  to  apply  them.  The  important  thing  is  that  the 
money  with  which  the  Apostolic   Chamber  has  neither  the 

262 


LEO   X. 

power  nor  the  will  to  dispense  should  reach  us  as  usual.  The 
means  are  of  small  moment. 

VON  MALTITZ :  I  cannot  imagine  that  henceforth  the 
Elector  intends  to  inflict  any  pecuniary  loss  on  the  Apostolic 
Chamber. 

LEO  X. :  I  do  not  believe  so  either,  and  in  any  case  I  should 
not  care  to  admit  it,  for  with  this  point,  I  frankly  avow  to  you, 
serious  embarrassment  steps  in.  The  more  complaisant  I  am 
on  other  questions,  the  more  unbending  shall  I  be  found  on 
that  score.  You  have  lived  long  enough  at  Rome  and  in  my 
States  to  know  that  our  revenues  and  the  tolls  levied  by  the 
Church  in  Christian  lands  could  not  be  diminished  without 
involving  drawbacks  with  which  I  am  pledged  to  avoid 
burdening  the  Church.  This,  then,  is  how  the  matter  stands. 
I  am  prepared  to  remain  conciliatory  on  all  points,  provided 
that  the  needs  of  the  Apostolic  Chamber  are  satisfied.  Good- 
bye, Herr  von  Maltitz. 
VON  ^LA.LTITZ  :  I  crave  your  Holmess'  blessing. 

Kneels  and  kisses  the  pontifical  slipper. 

LEO  X.  (raising  his  right  hand,  makes  the  sign  of  the  Cross 

over  him) :  Benedico  tc  in  nomine*  ...  I  will  send  you  some 

excellent  Sicilian  wine   for  your  dinners  on  your    journey. 

Good-bye,  von  Maltitz.     Cardinal  BibBiena,  you  will  come  this 

evening  to  our  little  concert  ?     And  you,  Bembo,  shall  we  not 

hunt  to-day? 

BEMBO  :   I  long  to.  Most  Holy  Father. 

LEO   X. :    Follow  me  then,  Nimrod,   I  hear  the   battue  is 

excellent ;  let  us  lose  no  time. 

They  go  out. 

BIBBIENA:  My  dear  von  Maltitz,  you  understand  that  we 
do  not  mind  wlicther  the  money  comes  by  way  of  indulgences 
or  otherwise ;  but  remember  that  in  any  case  we  want  money 
and  nothing  but  money,  and  you  must  not  imagine  that  we  will 
give  up  a  single  doit  of  that  money. 

•  I  bless  thee  in  the  Name.  .  .  . — Tr. 

263 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

VON  MALTITZ  :  I  am  somewhat  embarrassed,  for  I  feax 
that  the  Elector  is,  hke  you,  more  stubborn  on  that  point  than 
on  any  other. 

BlBlilENA  :  In  that  case,  so  much  the  worse.  Tell  Frederick 
the  Wise  not  to  chafe  our  hunger ;  we  shall  turn  into  tigers. 
VON  MALTITZ  :  My  eloquence  will  do  its  best.  Good-bye, 
most  reverend  Signors  ;  I  must  finish  my  preparations  so  as  to 
start  to-morrow  morning.  I  kiss  your  hands,  and  commend 
m}self  to  your  good  graces. 

Exit 
SADOLETO  :  Suppose  he  were  to  fail  in  his  mission? 
BIBBIENA:    He   will  hardly   succeed.     For  the   rest,   the 
ground  is  cracking  beneath  our  feet 

SADOLETO :  And,  nevertheless,  we  are  working  to  raise 
our  edifice  to  the  skies. 

BIBBIENA :  It  is  the  foundations  that  are  being  sapped. 
SADOLETO:   We  strengthen  them  as  best  wc  can  with 
blocks  of  silver,  great  blocks  of  silver,  and  every  day  the  need 
for  this  material  grows  more  pressing. 

BIBBIENA :  And  every  day  it  becomes  more  difhcult  to 
obtain.  We  use  every  possible  means.  The  taxes  are  rising, 
rising,  rising !  Burghers  and  peasants  growl  and  threaten. 
They  are  reduced  to  beggary,  and  trade  is  being  crushed  and 
killed.  The  privileges  of  the  cities  are  assailed,  and  through 
the  crevices  that  we  make  we  put  all  the  fingers  of  both  hands 
to  grasp  the  little  that  is  there.  We  sell  offices,  we  sell  livings, 
we  sell  bishoprics,  we  sell  patriarchates,  we  sell  the  cardinal's 
hat ;  every  day  we  invent  some  ecclesiastical  ware  for  sale. 
What  is  there  that  we  do  not  sell  ?  We  rather  light-heartedly 
made  away  with  Cardinal  Petrucci,  at  the  time  of  the  war 
with  Urbino  and  on  account  of  the  conspiracy  of  Batista 
Vercelli,  and  if  the  Cardinals  Sauli  and  Riario  have  escaped, 
you  know  what  their  safety  costs  them ! 

SADOLETO :  Yes,  them  and  many  others ;  money  has  been 
coined  on  the  back  of  the  Sacred  College  by  means  of  these 
dismal  tricks. 

264 


LEO   X. 

BIBBIENA:  You  are  right.  You  remember  the  thirty-four 
promotions  that  were  made  after  that  afEair,  on  the  pretext  of 
securing  faithful  sers'ants  ?  The  profit  of  this  financial  opera- 
tion was  considerable,  but  the  public  conscience  can  never 
yet  have  borne  so  heavy  a  burden.  If  we  now  turn  to  consider 
our  foreign  policy,  it  is  precisely  the  same.  Grist  comes  to  our 
mill  from  annates,  Peter's  pence,  mutations,  and  these  famous 
indulgences,  the  cause  of  the  present  trouble.  In  spite  of  so 
many  toils,  so  many  preoccupations — let  us  be  candid,  so 
much  plundering — nothing  is  enough  for  us,  we  do  not  manage 
to  fill  the  void,  and  every  day  that  passes  drives  us  deeper 
into  an  abyss  of  poverty.  \Ye  must  perforce  cry  piteously  for 
help ;  our  penury  tortures  and  crushes  us ;  we  know  less  and 
less  how  to  get  out  of  it,  and — be  assured !  we  shall  end  by 
drawing  down  upon  us  a  violent  protest  from  outraged 
Christendom ;  we  shall  be  deafened  by  a  universal  lo//e  !* 
the  governments,  big  and  little,  will  make  us  hear  this  last 
decree :  "  You  have  impoverished  us  enough,  you  shall  have 
no  more ! " 

SADOLETO  :  Dear  friend,  I  fully  anticipate  it.  Men  are 
already  asking  what  right  we  can  allege  for  consuming  the 
world's  substance. 

BIBBIENA:  Some  good  arguments  can  be  put  forward  in 
our  favour.  The  Church  represents  intelligence  ;  the  treasures 
that  we  absorb  serve  to  foster  and  strengthen  science,  art,  and 
other  branches  of  civilisation. 

SADOLETO  :  They  serve  likewise — let  us  admit — to  glorify 
and  to  fatten  indolence,  vice,  and  perversity. 
BIBBIENA :  I  admit  it ;  but  every  cloth  has  its  seamy  side. 
Every  cultivated  society  is  a  corrupt  society.  Must  we  on  that 
account  return  to  barbarism  ?  Barbarism,  perhaps,  is 
unmoved  by  the  mercenary  allurements  of  beautiful 
courtesans ;  but  it  disembowels  prisoners  of  war,  and  smears 
with  blood  the  hideous  faces  of  its  idols.  .  .  .     Pardon  me  if  I 

*  Remove  them  I — Tr. 

265 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

break  short  our  conversation  here.     I  have  an  appointment  at 
my  house  with  our  dear  Raphael ;  I  have  something  to  lecture 
him  about.     If  you  have  no  pressing  business,  come  with  me 
and  add  your  preaching  to  mine.     What  say  you  ? 
SADOLETO  :  With  pleasure,  my  friend  ;  let  us  go. 

Bibbicna  and  Sadolcto  walk  majestically  out  of  the  room  and  cross 
the  galleries  and  Papal  apartments  ;  the  crowd  of  servants  and 
soldiers  of  the  Holy  Palace  opens  before  them  and  salutes  them 
respectfully.  At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  they  fmd  their  own 
olhcers,  secretaries,  train-bearers,  chamberlains,  gcntlenien  and 
servants  of  all  grades.  Two  capai-isoned  mules  are  brought 
forward  and  the  two  dignitaries  are  helped  to  mount.  They 
enter  the  streets  of  Rome  ;  the  escort  opens  a  way  for  them  in 
the  midst  of  the  multitude,  which  opens  and  closes  again.  From 
time  to  time  one  or  the  other  of  the  two  princes  of  the  Church 
raises  his  hand  and  gives  the  blessing  to  monks,  women, 
merchants,  and  poorer  folk,  who  kneel  at  sight  of  them. 

BIBBIENA :  What  a  motley  assemblage  of  faces  and 
costumes ! 

SADOLETO  :  I  never  weary  of  the  sight.  It  would  stir  the 
idlest  imagination.  We  see  here  samples  of  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth. 

BIBBIENA :  What  a  haughty  mien  those  Spaniards  have ! 
They  are  the  dominant  race  of  our  age ;  and  since  they  have 
discovered  the  New  Indies,  there  are  no  limits  to  their  pride 
or  their  rapacity.  The  lowest  among  them  fancies  himself  a 
little  king! 

SADOLETO :  And  there,  in  the  corner,  those  three 
Portuguese !  From  the  expression  on  their  faces,  one  can 
see  that  the  conquerors  of  Goa  and  Diu  are  no  whit  behind 
their  neighbours  of  the  Guadiana  in  arrogance  and  presump- 
tion. But  look  also  at  those  Frenchmen,  their  noses  in  the 
air,  trailing  their  swords,  jesting,  and  highly  pleased  with 
themselves ! 

BIBBIENA:    And   there,    there!    those   honest   Swiss,   half 
drunk,  jostling  the  Germans! 

SADOLETO  :   Let  me  in  turn  point  out  to  you  those  two 
Englishmen,  cold  as  statues ;  they  are  stopping  to  stare  con- 

266 


LEO   X. 

temptuously  at  a  group  of  Syrians  and  Greeks.  Fortunately, 
here  is  Signor  Pompeo  Frangipani  with  his  men-at-arms ;  he 
pushes  the  islanders  and  drives  them  away.  They  would  not 
have  moved  all  day.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  what  thoughts  occur 
to  me? 

BIBBIENA :  My  thoughts  are  worlds !  My  head  is  awhirl, 
especially  when  I  look  at  these  long  lines  of  superb  palaces, 
these  churches,  these  three-storied  towers,  these  glorious 
columns  freed  by  the  hand  of  time  from  their  ruined  architraves 
— all  seeming  still  to  proclaim  the  memories  of  an  inimitable 
antiquity.  \\'hat  a  frame  for  so  living  a  picture ! 
SADOLETO :  I  ask  myself  how  many  years  more  all  these 
people,  of  origins  so  various,  will  remain  attached  to  the  great 
Mother  City,  which  seems  to  render  them  no  other  service 
than  to  take  from  them  what  they  earn. 
BIBBIENA:  I  fear  that  from  now  the  years  will  be  but 
months. 

SADOLETO  :  Heavens  !  you  are  too  gloomy  a  prophet.  Can 
we  really  be  certain  that  these  nations  ever  consider  what  is 
useful  and  what  harmful  ?  For  a  long  time  the  Holy  Church 
has  been  living  on  their  substance  ;  and  custom  is  a  strange 
yoke.  It  is  enough  if  a  thing  exists,  for  most  men  to  conclude 
therefrom  that  it  must  exist.  Besides,  as  regards  religion, 
what  is  it  that  the  mob  desires?  Purity?  Truth?  ...  It 
has  no  idea  of  these.  Neither  its  senses  nor  its  heart  feel 
the  slightest  need  of  such  things.  It  requires  conventional 
words,  and  always  much  the  same  medley  of  more  or  less 
foolish  superstitions  which  we  have  preserved  from  paganism, 
and  which  paganism  itself  inherited  from  earlier  days.  That 
is  what  is  called  religion  for  the  populace,  and  its  thirst  for 
such  religion  will  never  be  slaked.  The  real  danger  lies  in 
some  few  ideas  that  continually  arise  afresh,  ideas  that  are 
the  luxury  of  a  minority — and  a  minority  takes  a  long  time 
to  make  a  breach  in  the  general  folly. 
BIBBIENA:  Then,  I  beg  you,  give  your  blessing  to  that  old 

267 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

dame  on  her  knees  who  is  presenting  to  you  her  two  children. 
SADOLETO :  Certainly  .  .  .  she  has  a  most  respectable 
face.  .  .  .  Give  her  a  ducat.  ...  I  proceed.  The  men  of 
learning  do  us  a  deal  of  damage  with  their  excessive  passion 
for  the  pa.'it. 

BIBBIENA:  You  are  right;  nevertheless,  one  must  admit 
that  the  Fathers'  style  is  pitiable,  and  as  for  that  of  the 
Decretals,  frankly,  it  fills  me  with  shame. 
SADOLETO  :  I  do  not  deny  it ;  but  observe  that  by  this 
we  live.  Our  property  is  being  spoiled  and  depreciated.  .  .  . 
We  depreciate  it  ourselves,  you,  Bembo,  I  .  .  .  and  the  Pope 
more  than  any  of  us.  He  never  is  at  a  loss  for  a  jest,  good  or 
ill-humoured,  against  the  monks.  All  men  of  wit  and  taste 
do  the  same.  I  do  not  say  that  we  are  wrong.  But  how  are 
we  to  uphold  an  institution  when  we  declare  from  morning 
till  night  that  we  do  not  believe  in  its  sanctity  ? 
BIBBIENA:  Do  you  know  of  a  remedy? 
SADOLETO :  There  are  diseases  that  come  from  tempera- 
ment. The  temperament  of  the  Church  is  to  live  by  abuses. 
So  many  reforms  would  be  needed,  and  so  far-reaching !  I 
can  imagine  myself  a  reformer,  consenting  to  become  a  carpet- 
maker  like  St.  Paul,  to  sup  on  a  raw  onion  in  a  dirty  tavern ! 
BIBBIENA  (smiling) :  You  make  me  shudder. 
SADOLETO :  Consider  what  Leo  X.  and  each  of  our 
reverend  colleagues  would  answer  to  a  proposal  that  they 
should  do  likewise !  Their  indignation  would,  moreover,  be 
shared  by  all  the  archbishops,  bishops,  abbots,  priors,  and 
monks  of  Christendom,  as  also  by  the  princes,  who  would 
suspect  me  of  hypocrisy,  fanaticism  and  demagogy,  and 
perhaps  they  would  not  be  wrong.  Yet  I  am  far  from  denying 
that  from  time  to  time  an  attempt  at  asceticism  has  its  advan- 
tages. It  is  no  bad  thing  that  some  arch-madman  or  other, 
looking  for  spiritual  adventures  in  the  recesses  of  his  cell, 
should  diet  himself  on  bread  and  water  and  scourge  himself 
as  hard  as  he  can.  Not  only  do  such  frenzies  delight  the 
masses  by  maintaining  the  tradition  of  the  anchorites  of  the 

268 


LEO   X. 

Thebaid,  successors  of  the  worthy  Corybantes  and  all  the 
devotees  of  Isis  who  have  enjoyed  lashing  themselves  ever 
since  the  world  was  created  ;  but  they  serve  later  on  as  a 
pretext  for  building  fine  churches  in  porphyry  or  marble,  at 
the  invocation  of  the  holy  man,  and  for  executing  in  his 
honour  admirable  paintings,  statues  of  marvellous  beauty,  and 
finally  for  creating  wealthy  livings  for  ecclesiastics  who  have 
nothing  in  common  with  their  saint.  But  of  other  results  I 
can  see  none. 

BIBBIENA:  Heavens,  how  mad  men  are!  Live  and  let 
live,  is  there  anything  better  or  easier?  When  the  world  is 
so  beautiful,  when  charming  objects  abound  everywhere,  when 
men  can  make  such  pleasant  and  easy  use  of  their  time,  their 
minds  and  their  hearts ! 

SADOLETO  :  And,  failing  all  else,  is  not  curiosity  alone 
enough  to  make  life  sweet?  What  can  be  more  interesting 
than  to  watch  the  course  of  affairs  ?  For  instance,  the  wisdom 
of  the  Venetians  is  highly  instructive,  while  the  fickleness  of 
the  Florentines  is  full  of  amusing  surprises !  And  here  are  the 
French,  adopting  the  love  of  arts  like  ourselves,  and  the  new 
Germanic  Caesar,  Charles  V.,  that  young  man  of  whom  we  yet 
know  nothing,  how  curious  to  observe  his  first  steps!  .  .  . 
Why  all  these  shouts?  .  .  .  What  an  uproar!  .  .  .  What  are 
you  doing,  Ambrosio  ?  Why  do  you  arrest  this  man  ? 
OFFICER:  Reverend  Monsignor,  he  is  a  thief!  The  con- 
stables are  chasing  him,  and  he  is  trying  to  escape.  .  .  .  We 
have  him  I 

SADOLETO  :  Let  him  go,  poor  thief!  .  .  .  Go,  my  son,  go, 
run  off  and  try  to  mend  your  ways.  ...  I  was  saying.  .  .  . 
But  here  we  are  at  your  door,  and  there  is  Master  Raphael. 
Let  us  stop. 

RAPHAEL  (followed  by  some  pupils  and  scr\'ants,  approaches 
and  hails  the  two  Cardinals) :  Most  reverend  Excellencies,  I 
kiss  your  feet ! 

269 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BIBBIENA:  Greeting — I  am  delighted  to  see  you. 
SADOLETO  :  Greeting,  dear  master,  give  me  your  hand. 

The  Cardinals  dismount,  enter  the  palace,  exchange  greetings ; 
Raphael  follows  them  ;  the  throe,  conversing  togetlier,  go  up  the 
great  staircase.  Their  suite  stops  in  an  enormous  gallery  ;  they 
continue  and  enter  a  room  decorated  with  pictures  and  gildings, 
•with  immense  door-curtains  of  Levantine  stuffs. 

BIBBIENA  :  Take  a  seat,  friend,  in  this  armchair.  Sit  down, 
Raphael,  my  son ;  sit  on  this  stool ;  you  come  here  to  be 
lectured. 

RAPHAEL  (smiling)  :  I  suspected  as  much  from  the  wording 
of   your   letter.  ...  Is    it    because    of    my    conversation    of 
yesterday  with  two  of  your  most  reverend  colleagues .'' 
BIBBIENA:  What  did  you  tell  them? 

RAPHAEL  :  They  were  before  my  picture  of  the  Apostles  and 
declared  that  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  were  too  red.  I  answered 
that  they  could  not  be  otherwise,  when  they  saw  the  Church 
administered  as  it  is.  I  assure  you  these  two  Signers  went  off 
without  asking  for  more. 

BIBBIENA  (to  Sadoleto) :  You  hear?  It  is  the  commentary 
to  our  conversation.  Now,  Raphael,  we  must  come  to  other 
matters  ...  to  your  interests,  my  son!  Cardinal  Sadoleto 
wishes  you  well,  as  I  do,  and  v/e  may  talk  openly  before  him. 
RAPHAEL  :  Both  of  you  are  showering  benefits  upon  me, 
I  should  be  the  most  ungrateful  of  men  if  I  did  not  recognise 
that. 

BIBBIENA :  Since  the  death  of  your  betrothed,  my  poor 
niece,  ray  dear  Maria,  I  can  think  of  no  plan  for  your  settling 
down.  Have  you  not  yourself  some  scheme  to  this  end?  It 
is  time  to  consider  it.  You  will  not  always  be  young,  and  you 
have  just  reached  the  age  of  thirty-seven.  As  for  me,  I  am 
growing  old.  I  should  like  to  see  your  future  assured  and 
your  life  unfold  itself  before  you,  stable,  serene,  and  calm  as  it 
should  be,  for  you  to  produce  freely  the  masterpieces  which 
we  have  a  right  to  demand  of  you,  since  you  are  a  being 
unparalleled  on  this  earth. 

2;o 


LEO   X. 

SADOLETO  :  You  and  Michael  Angelo  may  be  called,  as 
Horace  called  the  Dioscuri,  Lucida  sidera* 
RAPHAEL  :  I  mourned  the  untimely  death  of  my  betrothed, 
Maria  da  Bibbiena.  I  mourn  her,  poor  girl,  for  her  own 
qualities  and  also  because,  being  so  near  akin  to  you,  she 
would  have  come  to  me  from  you  as  a  bride.  Yet  I  have  not 
concealed  from  you  this — that  I  never  thought  of  marriage 
with  confidence.  It  is  a  blessing  that  does  not  attract  me.  I 
love  freedom.  I  love  to  see  before  my  eyes  a  distance  without 
boundaries ;  I  love  life — and,  to  unveil  the  depths  of  my 
heart  to  you,  I  love  to  idolatry  the  memory  of  another  whom 
I  have  lost  and  who  alone  could  have  made  me  change  my 
opinion. 

BIBBIENA:  Do  not  speak  of  your  poor  Beatrice  ...  do  not 
speak  of  her.  .  .  .  This  memory  tortures  you. 
RAPHAEL :  If  it  tortures  me,  it  dignifies  me,  too.  That 
adored  being  has  taught  me  what  disinterestedness  and  good- 
ness the  noblest  affection  can  attain  ;  from  the  bosom  of  death, 
she  still  sends  me  that  feeling  of  heavenly  melancholy,  a  well 
undefiled  that  without  her  I  should  never  have  known.  Her 
memory  wraps  me  in  a  veil  of  crape  whose  folds  are  never 
heavy  and  which  I  should  never  wish  to  cast  off.  The  love 
that  joined  us  burns  in  me  like  a  lamp  lighted  from  the  torches 
of  immortality.  To  please  you,  I  consented  to  an  alliance 
which,  as  you  well  knov,',  was  not  made  by  my  desire.  .  .  . 
Heaven  did  not  permit  it.  .  .  .  Let  us  talk  no  more  of  such 
a  project. 

BIBBIENA:  So  you  intend  to  remain  in  the  flighty  indepen- 
dence of  youth  ?  I  respect  your  motives,  but  it  is  no  less  true 
that  you  consent  to  remain  the  man  of  the  unexpected,  of 
adventure,  and  never  to  know  that  maturity  of  life  which  alone 
leads  to  that  public  esteem  with  which  genius  itself  cannot 
dispense. 

•  Shining  stars. — Tr. 

Y  2;i 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

RAPHAEL :  What  a  lofty  tone  you  are  adopting,  most 
reverend  signor !  and  I  notice  from  Monsignor  Sadoleto's  look 
that  he  shares  your  views. 

SADOLETO  :  Art,  my  son.  Is  one  of  God's  great  creations 
and  quite  equal,  in  my  opinion,  to  literature,  in  dignity  and  in 
power.  Nevertheless,  a  settled  and  well-balanced  life  brings 
to  its  possessor  the  consolations  necessary  for  the  miseries  of 
existence. 

RAPHAEL :  It  seems  to  me  that  this  end  can  be  gained 
without  its  being  needful  to  take  a  wife.  Disturbance  of  customs 
and  habits  is  an  abomination  to  me  ;  it  is  a  source  of  sterility 
for  the  artist,  and  the  worst  form  of  bondage.  But  the  means 
of  escaping  it  are  no  more  lacking  to  me  than  the  desire.  I 
am  certainly  the  wealthiest  of  artists,  and  in  spite  of  the  rather 
expensive  style  that  I  keep  up,  which  appears  to  me 
necessary  for  the  satisfaction  of  my  tastes  and  the  freedom 
of  my  spirit,  I  never  cease  to  pay  suitable  attention  to  this 
phase  of  my  interests.  At  this  moment,  in  the  City  of  Rome, 
I  own  an  estate  of  two  thousand  ducats,  which  brings  me  in 
an  income  of  fifty  gold  crowns.  The  supervision  of  the  work 
on  St.  Peter's  has  been  entrusted  to  me  by  the  Pope  since  the 
death  of  II  Bramante ;  it  affords  me  an  annual  salary  of  three 
hundred  ducats,  and  I  am  on  the  road  to  obtaining  other  orders 
of  the  same  kind  shortly.  His  Holiness,  in  commanding  me 
to  paint  a  new  room  in  the  Vatican,  has  allotted  me  twelve 
hundred  ducats  for  this  purpose.  A  few  days  ago  I  was 
appointed  inspector  of  ancient  monuments,  an  office  which 
assures  me  large  profits,  and  oil  all  sides  I  am  asked  for 
pictures,  and  can  name  my  own  price.  In  such  a  position,  I 
surround  myself  at  will  with  loyal  and  attentive  servants, 
I  lead  an  unrivalled  existence,  and  I  have  no  need  to  instal 
m  my  house  a  wife  and  family — bringing  more  annoyance  than 
pleasure.  Enough  of  this ;  you  would  do  well  to  come  and 
visit  the  work  at  St.  Peter's  with  me,  and  then  we  will  go  and 
take  sherbet  in  my  vineyard. 
SADOLETO:    He    argues   passably  well,   what  say  you? 

272 


LEO   X. 

Indeed,  he  is  a  priest  like  you,  though  serving  a  profane  god- 
head, and  what  I  appreciate  most  in  my  ecclesiastical  duties  is 
the  happiness  of  the  celibate's  unhappiness. 
BIBBIENA:  Good;  I  will  talk  no  more  of  all  this.  But, 
Raphael,  I  should  like  to  see  you  take  more  care  of  your  health. 
You  have  too  much  work  and  too  much  amusement.  I  am 
anxious  when  I  hear  of  your  attacks  of  fever ;  they  alarm  me 
greatly,  you  are  wearing  yourself  out  too  quickly. 
RAPHAEL  :  I  never  felt  so  strong  or  free  in  my  limbs.  I 
have  just  been  present  at  the  excavations  of  the  Campo 
Vaccino.  I  stayed  three  or  four  hours  in  the  trenches.  What 
a  delightful  morning  it  has  been  !  Now  let  us  go  to  St.  Peter's. 
BIBBIENA  :  Well,  let  us  go !  It  is  at  least  two  days  since  I 
saw  you  last,  my  dear  son,  and  the  time  has  passed  slowly. 
SADOLETO  :  Let  us  make  up  for  it !  I  will  read  you,  this 
evening,  when  we  are  well  rested,  the  delicious  elegy 
addressed  to  the  Pope  by  our  friend,  Guidus  Posthumus 
Sylvester.  It  is  one  of  the  most  striking  Latin  poems  I  have 
ever  read : 

Heu  !  quam  nostra  levis,  quam  non  diuturna  voluntas 
Quam  iuvat  ingratum  s:cpe  quod  ante  fuit  !* 

and  the  rest  in  the  same  style.     It  is  admirable ! 


• 


Alas!    how  fickle  is  our  will,  how  Uttlo  lasting,  how  often  that  which 


W5  loathed  before  dehghts  us  ! — Tr. 


o 


V   2  273 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


MICHAEL  ANGELO'S   STUDIO. 


A  cold  and  dark  retreat.  The  night  is  black.  A  statue,  still  almost  in 
the  rough,  on  which  falls  the  light  of  a  little  copper  lamp,  held  by 
Antonio  I'rbino,  the  artist's  servant.  Michael  Angclo  is  occupied  in 
finishing  a  sort  of  cardboard  helmet  with  open  peak,  arranged  so  as 
to  serve  as  a  receptacle. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  see,  Urbino  ?  You  said  I  should 

not  succeed !     I  have  succeeded  perfectly.     Now,  give  me  the 

lamp. 

URBINO  :  It  will  not  keep  upright  in  that!     It  will  fall  and 

burn  your  hair.     A  fine  idea  of  yours ! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  tell  you  it  will  keep  upright!   Why 

do  you  refuse  to  admit  that  ? 

URBINO  :   It  is  not  I  that  refuse  to  admit  it,  but  the  lamp 

that  will  refuse  to  keep  upright. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:   Come,  you  obstinate  creature!  give 

me  your  lamp,  and  roll  this  wire  firmly  round  the  base  .  .  . 

one  more  turn.  .  .  .  Good !     Now,  I  put  the  lamp  inside.  .  .  . 

I  fasten  the  wire  here.  .  .  .  You  see  ?  .  .  .  Ii  will  stay. 

URBINO  :  When  you  move  about  with  that  on  your  head  you 

will  set  fire  to  the  cardboard. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Not  at  all!     The  aperture  is  wide, 

and  the  flame  has  all  tiTe  room  it  needs  to  waver  from  left  to 

right.     It's  splendid!     I  shall  now  be  able  to  work  at  night, 

with  lighting  effects  on  the  marble  which  will  give  the  finest 

results. 

URBINO  :  It  would  be  far  better  if  you  went  to  bed.     You 

always  have  ideas  tliat  occur  to  no  one  else. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  It  is  quite  convenient  to  carry.     My 

head  is  perfectly  at  ease.     Pass  me  the  hammer  and  the  flat 

chisel  ,  .  .  here  ...  on  the  wooden  box. 

URBINO  :  I  tell  you  that  you  would  do  far  better  if  you  went 

to  bed  instead  of  working  like  a  wretched  hireling.     You  know 

quite  well  that  Her  Excellency  the  Marchioness  does  not  wish 

you  to  over-exert  yourself. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Very  well,  you  will  go  to-morrow  to 

274 


LEO   X. 

ask  after  her  health,  and  you  will  tell  her  Uiat  it  is  my  wife 
who  will  not  let  me  go  to  bed. 

URBINO:  Your  wife?  Your  wife?  What  does  that  mean? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO :  She  is  here,  at  my  side,  looking  at 
me  with  her  beautiful  great  eyes ;  she  pushes  my  arm  and 
says  to  me:  "Work,  Michael  Angelo,  work  for  your  glory  and 
mine !  "  and  she  shows  me  a  bit  of  green  leaf  that  she  has  in 
her  hand — a  laurel. 

URBINO  :  These  phrases  of  yours  will  not  prevent  you  from 
tiring  yourself  to  death. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  have  not  been  so  happy  for  many 
a  long  day.  It  is  a  black  night,  and  by  the  gleam  of  this 
little  lamp  I  see  a  world  of  ideas.  .  .  .  What  may  the  time  be  ? 
URBINO :  I  think  it  cannot  be  far  from  midnight.  You  had 
better  go  to  bed. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  It  is  pouring  with  rain.  One  can 
hear  the  shower  smiting  the  roofs  and  falling  on  the  flagstones 
of  the  courtyard  like  a  great  river.  It  has  been  a  fearful 
storm.  Lightnings  furrow  the  shimmering  blackness  of  the 
windowpane.  But  behind  all  this  stern  uproar,  what  calm ! 
The  distant  rumblings  of  the  thunder  and  its  majestic  roarings, 
but  no  human  voice,  no  false,  lying,  peevish,  imperious  or 
stupidly  arrogant  voice  is  raised  to  vex  me !  I  can  create  .  .  . 
my  spirit  is  free  ...  I  am  happy!  ...  I  am  wholly  in  the 
power  of  all  that  is  worth  my  entire  devotion,  and  the  hard 
bosom  of  the  marble  opt;ns  .  .  .  the  living  head  begins  to 
appear.  .  .  .  White,  white,  it  palpitates  beneath  the  chisel  that 
sets  free  its  features  one  by  one.  .  .  ,  Out  of  the  material  they 
spring  .  .  .  they  speak.  .  .  .  Urbino! 
URBINO:  Master? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  are  falling  asleep  on  your  foot- 
stool. It  is  you  who  would  do  well  to  go  and  seek  your  bed. 
URBINO :  I  cannot.  When  you  sleep,  I  will  sleep — not 
before. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Strange  obstinacy ! 
URBINO  :  True,  I  am  no  longer  young,  and  it  wearies  me 

275 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

to  stay  up,  but  the  Marchioness  said  to  me :   "  When  your 

master  docs  not  ^o  to  rest,  do  not  ^o  to  rest  either,  and  we 

shall  see  if  he  cares  to  tax  the  strength  of  his  old  servant." 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Give  me  a  few  minutes  more  ;  there 

is  one  thing  to  be  finished. 

URBINO :  A  few  minutes,  but  not  more.     The  Marchioness 

expressly  desires.  ... 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Very  well  then !  .  .  .  Tell  me  a  story 

to  keep  me  awake. 

URBINO:  I  went  to-day  to  your  notary. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  We  won't  speak  of  that. 

URBINO  :  He  says  that  the  two  girls  whom  you  have  dowered 

are  quite  respectable. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  I  am  glad,  Urbino.     I  wish  them  all 

happiness ;  they  are  lovable  children,  though  very  ugly. 

URBINO  :  I  also  saw  your  nephew.     He  came  while  you 

were  out. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Good.  ...  If  he  should  happen  to 

come  back,  tell  him  to  leave  me  in  peace  and  go  about  his 

business. 

URBINO :  He  thinks,  and  that  rightly,  that  his  most  pressing 

business  is  to  thank  you  for  the  three  thousand  crowns  which 

you,  who  are  not  rich,  have  given  him. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :   He  knows  that  I  love  him ;  he  has 

no  need  to  thank  me. 

URBINO :    Master,    the    clock    strikes  ...  an    hour    after 

midnight.  .   .   . 

MICHAEL    ANGELO :     I    have    finished  ...  but    I    am 

mortally  hungry.     Have  you  nothing  to  eat  here  ?     Look  in 

the  meal-tub. 

URBINO:  I  will  go  and  see.  .  .  .  Ah!  your  house  is  kept  on 

a  poor  footing  indeed !     As  soon  as  you  have  money,  it  is  given 

to  the  first  comer. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Man  needs  but  little  for  his  body. 

But  all  his  strength  is  insufficient  to  elevate  his  soul. 

2;6 


LEO  X. 

URBINO  :  Here's  some  bread  ....  a  trifle  hard  ....  and 
a  piece  of  cheese,  and  even  the  end  of  a  bottle.  .  .  . 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Excellent!     Bring  me  all  that. 

Takes  ofE  his  cardboard  cap,  puts  the  lamp  on  a  bench  and  eats, 
standing  up,  looking  at  his  statue.     Loud  knocking  at  the  door. 

Who  can  be  coming  at  this  hour?     Look  through  the  grill. 
URBINO  :  Who  is  knocking? 

A  VOICE  :  It  is  I,  Antonio  Mini.  .  .  .  Open,  master!  ...  It 
is  I,  your  pupil !     I  have  important  news  for  you  1 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:    My  pupil,  Antonio  Mini?     Open! 
Is  it  bad  tidings? 

ANTONIO   MINI  (entering):    Oh,  Master,  a  terrible  mis- 
fortune ! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  What  is  the  matter  ?    You  are  quite 
pale! 

MINI :  Raphael  is  dying !     No  doubt  he  is  dead  by  now. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Raphael !     God  in  heaven ! 
MINI :   I  was  in  his  studio  with  two  of  his  pupils,  Timoteo 
Viti  and  II  Garofalo.     It  was  about  three  o'clock.     A  servant 
came  to  say  that  the  master  was  ill.     He  had  had  fever  since 
yesterday  evening. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Since  yesterday?  I  am  not  sur- 
prised. He  was  a  man  of  delicate  complexion,  half  woman, 
half  child.  He  spent  too  much  time  at  work  and  far  too  much 
at  his  pleasures.  I  met  him,  four  days  ago,  making  excava- 
tions in  the  Campo  Vaccino,  and  I  even  remember  warning 
him  to  beware  of  digging  at  this  season  of  the  year.  You  say 
he  is  worse  ? 

NINI :  If  he  is  not  dead  now,  he  will  not  last  out  till  daybreak. 
He  had  himself  carried  into  his  studio,  and  I  saw  him,  yes,  I 
saw  him,  white  as  a  shroud,  half-fainting,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his 
picture  of  the  Transfiguration.  .  .  .  Near  the  bed,  which  had 
been  set  up  for  him  in  a  hurry,  stood  his  friends.  Cardinals 
Bibbiena,  Sadolcto  and  Bcmbo,  and  other  Signers  whom  I  do 
not  know.  ...  At  the  pillow-side  was  the  Holy  Father, 
crying  and  wiping  his  eyes. 

277 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Urbino,  give  me  my  cap  and  cloak. 

I  must  go   there!     Raphael  .  .  .  Raphael  .  .  .  dying!      My 

God,  is  it  possible?  .  .  .  Quick,  let  us  go! 

URBINO:   Here,  here,  master!     Give  me  time  to  light  a 

lantern  ;  I  v^'ill  light  your  way. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  say  there  is  no  help  for  it  ?     Are 

you  certain?     Have  the  physicians  been  sent  for?     What  did 

they  say  ?     What  did  they  do  ?     Let  us  go  ! 

MINI :  There  was  no  lack  of  physicians  ;  there  was  the  Holy 

Father's,   Messer  Jacopo   of   Brescia,   then   Messer   Gaetano 

Marini,  and  others.     All  looked  very  gloomy  and  shook  their 

heads ;  their  eyes  told  us  that  their  science  could  do  no  more. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Come,  Urbino,  are  you  ready? 

URBINO:  Here  I  am,  master! 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Walk  in  front,  quickly! 

They  go  out  into  the  street,  which  is  very  dark ;  however,  the  rain 
has  ceased  falling ;  the  clouds,  rapidly  rolled  upon  one  another 
by  the  wind,  are  torn  asunder  and  show  a  part  of  the  orb  of  the 
moon,  which  gives  a  faint  light  to  the  houses  and  the  road.  A 
great  noise  of  footsteps  is  heard. 

What  is  this  uproar  ? 

URBINO  :  We  shall  know  after  turning  the  corner  of  the  lane ! 

MINI :  Forward !     Mind  that  puddle  of  water,  master ! 

He  supports  Michael  Angelo  by  the  arm. 

Rapidly  and  confusedly,  there  passes  a  numerous   company  of   officers, 

soldiers,  servants  and  torch-bearers,  whose  torches  throw  a  red  light 

on  the  houses  ;    in  the  midst  of  this  procession,   the  pontifical  litter 

with  curtains  drawn. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (to  a  chamberlain)  :  What  means  this, 

Sir? 

CHAMBERLAIN:  It  is  the  Holy  Father  returning  to  the 

Vatican. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Is  Raphael  .  .  .? 

A  VOICE :   Raphael    is    dead,   and   Michael   Angelo   alone 

remains  in  Italy ! 

The  procession  passes ;  Michael  Angelo  drops  on  to  a  stone  bench.  The 
clouds  have  parted,  and  the  moon  shines  in  a  clear  sky. 

MICHAEL    ANGELO:    I    remain,    it   is   true  ...  I    alone 
278 


LEO   X. 

remain.  Last  year  it  was  Lionardo  .  .  .  now  it  is  Raphael, 
and  all  whom  we  three  knew  or  listened  to  have  long  since 
gone.  It  is  true,  I  alone  remain.  There  was  a  time  when 
I  should  have  loved  to  be  the  only  one,  the  peerless,  the 
unique,  the  greatest  confidant  of  the  secrets  of  creative 
heaven!  I  imagined  that  to  resemble  the  sun,  in  the  centre 
of  the  universe,  without  an  equal,  without  a  rival,  was  the  most 
enviable  form  of  happiness.  .  .  .  For  years  I  was  not  fond  of 
Lionardo.  ...  I  railed  at  Raphael  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
...  I  repeated  to  myself,  so  as  to  convince  myself,  that  I 
rated  them  low.  .  .  .  Yes,  there  have  been  days  when  you, 
Michael  Angelo,  were  only  a  poor  creature,  of  short  sight  and 
circumscribed  vision,  apt  to  censure  and  misunderstand  all 
that  did  not  resemble  you,  and — I  tell  you,  because  it  is  true — 
all  that  was  quite  as  good  as  you  and  perhaps  better !  Now 
I  have  what  my  heart  desired.  The  stars  have  gone  out  in 
heaven,  and  here  I  am  alone  .  .  .  quite  alone  .  .  .  and  stifled 
in  my  isolation  !  .  .  .  There  is  still  Titian  ;  he  is  a  great  genius, 
a  great  brain.  .  .  .  There  is  Andrea  del  Sarto.  .  .  .  There  is 
.  .  .  But,  alas!  no — great  as  they  are,  they  are  not  the  peers 
of  Lionardo  and  of  him  who  lies  down  there.  .  .  .  Ah, 
Raphael!  .  .  .  His  beauty,  his  subtlety,  his  sweetness,  his 
grace,  and,  in  his  talk  as  in  his  aspect,  what  divine  honey !  .  .  . 
all  that  I  have  not,  all  that  I  cannot  reach  ...  all  that  I  am 
not !  ...  He  whom  all  loved  and  who  deserved  so  well  to  be 
loved !  .  .  .  My  God,  my  God,  what  is  it  that  comes  over  me  ? 
What  is  stirring  within  me  and  drawing  tears  from  eyes  that 
never  tried  to  weep?  Of  what  am  I  thinking?  Yes,  a  river 
of  grief  is  rising  and  rolling  within  my  bosom ;  the  tears 
escape  from  my  eyelids,  stream  down  my  cheeks,  fall  upon 
him  whom  I  always  abused  and  shunned,  and  who  was  so  much 
better  and  more  loved  of  Heaven  than  I !  She  told  me  so, 
she  .  .  .  Vittoria  .  .  .  she  always  told  me  so,  and  I  would  not 
agree.  .  .  .  But  I  know  it  well,  at  bottom,  I  felt  it,  and  now 

279 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

that  the  thunderbolt  of  death  has  passed  between  him  and  me, 
now  that  I  remain  liere,  my  feel  in  the  nmd  of  the  world,  while 
his  noble  and  charminf^  countenance  appears  to  me  in  the 
bosom  of  God,  shininj^  with  celestial  light,  I  see  how  insincere 
and  petty  I  have  been !  No  .  .  .  no,  Titian  and  the  others, 
however  admirable  they  may  be,  are  not  the  equals  of  these 
two  great  departed.  About  them,  and  about  me  who  remain, 
the  light  is  waning  and  receding,  the  shadows  are  lengthening. 
.  .  .  Yes,  here  I  am  alone,  and  the  icy  breath  of  the  tomb 
that  is  opening  strikes  my  face.  What  will  become  of  the 
arts  ?  And  we,  who  have  hoped  so  much,  desired  so  much, 
imagined  so  much,  worked  so  much,  what  have  we  achieved, 
what  shall  we  bequeath  to  them  that  come  after  us?  Not  a 
quarter  of  what  we  should  have  done. 

Covers  his  face  mth  his  hands, 
URBINO  :    Come,  Master,  you  will  take  cold. 
MINI :  Give  me  your  arm,  and  let  us  go  back  to  your  house. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes  ;  we  must  preserve  our  strength 
and  work  as  long  as  we  are  throttled  by  the  chain  of  life. 


280 


LEO   X. 

THE  PIAZZA  NAVONE. 
A  French  gentleman,  an  English  gentleman,  a  Flemish  Franciscan,  a  cicerone. 
CICERONE  :  When  I  saw  you  from  a  distance,  I  at  once 
said  to  myself,  most  excellent  Signors,  "Here  are  most  im- 
portant personages,  to  whom  your  duty  compels  you  imme- 
diately to  make  obeisance  and  offer  your  services." 
FRENCHMAN  :  I  am  from  Champagne,  and  my  estate  of 
Brandicourt  is  well  known.  My  friend  comes  from-  London, 
and  we  have  hired  the  services  of  this  good  Father  at  joint 
expense ;  he  waits  on  us,  brushes  our  clothes,  and  takes  notes 
of  the  observations  we  make  in  our  travels. 
CICERONE  :  I  am  most  happy  to  have  the  honour  of  meeting 
your  illustrious  Excellencies.  I  am  a  person  of  some  note  in 
this  city,  and  indeed  I  can  well  say  that  I  owe  this  far  less  to 
my  poor  deserts  than  to  the  loftiness  of  my  birth  and  to  the 
credit  which  my  kinsfolk  enjoy  at  the  Holy  Father's  court.  I 
am  glad  to  place  at  your  disposal  all  that  I  can  ;  I  will  show 
you  Rome  in  all  its  most  precious  details,  and  will  expound  its 
charms  to  you  from  point  to  point. 

ENGLISHMAN  :  That  will  be  very  pleasant ;  but  perhaps 
you  will  expect  us  to  pay  you  heavily  ? 

CICERONE  :  Magnificent  Signors,  you  shall  give  me  what- 
ever you  think  fit.  In  any  case,  be  assured  that  I  shall  feel 
overwhelmed  by  your  kindness.  I  only  want  the  honour  of 
doing  you  service. 

THE  ENGLISHMAN:  I  wish  to  loiow  everything! 
THE  CICERONE  :  Nothing  is  easier. 

THE  FRENCHMAN  :  You  understand  :  my  friend  and  I 
came  to  Italy  with  the  sole  object  of  saying  afterwards,  in 
fine  company,  "  I  have  seen  this  and  that !  "  So  it  would  be 
very  annoying  to  learn  too  late  that  there  was  something  or 
other  wc  had  not  seen. 

THE  CICERONE  :  Have  no  fear.  We  will  begin  at  this 
very  moment,  if  you  please.  Let  us  take  this  road.  In 
passing,  I  shall  bid  you  admire  the  Campo  Vaccino  ;  it  is  the 
place  where  the  ancient  Romans  held  their  assemblies. 

281 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ENGLISHMAN  :   I  wish  to  see  it  at  once! 
CICERONE  :  You  shall  see  it  at  once!     There  the  famous 
Pompey  was  murdered. 

FRENCHMAN  :  Father  Jean,  write  that  in  your  note-book. 

Father  Jean  writes. 

CICERONE  :  Next,  we  shall  go  and  visit  the  Vatican,  where 
one  of  my  cousins,  who  stands  high  in  the  Holy  Father's  confi- 
dence, will  take  us  round  for  a  trifle. 

THE  FRENCHMAN:  I  wish  to  see  the  pictures  of  that 
painter  w4io  died  the  other  day  and  was  given  so  splendid  a 
funeral.  .  .  .  What  was  his  name  ? 
CICERONE  :  You  mean  Master  Raphael. 
FRENCHMAN:  They  say  he  was  quite  a  .  .  .  quite  a  .  .  . 
clever  man.  I  am  told  that  the  King  himself  gave  him  a 
commission. 

ENGLISHMAN :  Ah,  yes,  that's  a  man  I  should  have  been 
glad  to  have  seen.  .  .  .  But,  after  all,  since  he's  dead  .  .  . 
When  we  have  visited  the  Vatican,  let  us  go  and  dine  in  the 
tavern  where  they  feed  you  best. 

CICERONE :  Most  illustrious  Signers,  that  is  my  very 
intention,  and  I  will  have  a  meal  served  you  that  will  astonish 
you. 

ENGLISHMAN:  Father  Jean,  you  will  take  a  note  of  the 
dishes  and  the  way  they  are  prepared. 

FRENCHMAN :  Could  you  not  also  introduce  us  to  some 
charming  ladies  ? 

CICERONE :  I  have  thought  of  that !  I  know  two,  at  this 
moment,  to  whom  I  wall  take  you  this  evening,  and  you  will 
be  delighted  with  them.  We  will  sup  at  their  house  ;  we  will 
have  an  instrumental  concert,  and  you  will  thank  me  all  your 
lives  for  the  society  to  which  you  will  be  admitted  ;  for  I  must 
ask  you  to  bear  in  mind  that  they  are  ladies  of  high  standing, 
allied  to  the  most  eminent  famiHes  in  Rome.  As  they  are 
very  fond  of  foreign  Signors,  I  now  and  then  give  myself 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  some  to  them. 
ENGLISHMAN  :  Father  Jean,  you  will  set  down  these  ladies' 

282 


LEO  X. 

names  in  writing,  so  that  we  may  mention  them  when  we 
return  home. 

CICERONE :  Let  us  set  out,  if  you  please,  for  I  see  there, 

to  the  left  and  right,  two  horsemen  about  to  come  and  offer 

themselves  to  you  as  guides,  and  I  would  not  have  you  fall 

into  such  evil  hands. 

FRENCHMAN  :  The  deuce !     A  fine  palace!     Whose  is  it? 

CICERONE :  It  belongs  to  the  Ammirato. 

FRENCHMAN  (to  the  monk) :  Father  Jean,  write  down  that 

we  have  seen  a  palace  of  Amurath.  .  .  .  That  is  the  great 

Turkish  Sultan,  is  it  not  ? 

CICERONE:  Exactly,  magnificent  Signor!  They  pass. 


FERRARA. 

Madam  Lucrezia's  study  in  the  Ducal  palace. — Madam  Lucrezia  is  seated 
by  an  open  wndow  which  looks  on  to  an  inner  courtyard.  She  is 
dressed  in  a  simple  gown  of  black  taffeta,  and  her  sleeves  and  collar 
are  of  muslin  with  very  little  embroidery.  Her  black  hair,  carefully 
arranged  under  her  velvet  coif,  shows  some  grey  and  white  threads. 
Her  face  is  grave  and  calm.  Madam  Lucrezia  reads  attentively  a 
little  book  bound  in  yellow  morocco  ;  on  its  back  is  traced  the  title — 
De  Imitatione  Christi. — After  a  few  minutes  she  places  the  open  book 
on  the  window-sill,  walks  to  a  big  table,  sits  down  and  draws  towards 
her  a  sheet  of  paper,  and,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  ink,  writes  the 
following  words  : 

To  His  Most  Reverend  Excellency,  Monsignor  the  Cardinal  Bembo,  Rome. 

In  using  the  Latin  language,  most  revered  and  beloved  Signor,  I  am 
not,  you  may  be  sure,  yielding  to  an  empty  desire  to  make  parade  of  my 
humble  knowledge  before  your  eyes.  Still  less  must  you  think  that  I 
would  dare  to  vie  in  eloquence  with  the  superior  genius  of  one  who  has 
revived  among  us  the  beautiful  style,  the  noble  language,  of  him  who  wrote 
"Of  Old  Age"  and  ''Of  Duties."  Once  upon  a  time,  I  was  perhaps  the 
slave  of  ideas  so  absurd  ;  to-day,  I  use  Latin  for  the  twofold  reason — that 
it  is  a  dignified  language,  suitable  to  our  years,  and  that  it  is  dear  to  you, 
before  whom  I  always  wish  to  appear  in  such  a  light  as  to  receive  a  warm 
welcome. 

If  I  did  not  immediately  answer  your  letter  of  the  Ides  of  September 
last,  it  is  because  I  have  had  troubles  with  which  I  did  not  wish  to  darken 
your  loyal  devotion.  My  Lord  the  Duke  has  been  ill,  so  ill  as  to  cause  me 
keen  anxiety.  He  is  no  longer  young,  and  the  accumulation  of  military 
hardships  and  administrative  cares  is  beginning  to  tell  cruelly  upon  his 
whole  frame.  I  have  spent  sad  days  by  his  bed  of  sickness  ;  now  he  is 
better,  and  I  return  to  you  somewhat  consoled,  with  firmer  courage,  but 

283 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

certainly  not  cured.  My  life  has  been  too  long.  Too  many  regrets,  too 
many  vexations  at  much  that  is  past  burden  my  heart.  The  love  of 
literature,  tliat  once  had  such  power  to  delight  my  leisure  hours,  has  lost 
its  spell ;  rcUgion  alone  keeps  me  up  ;  it  offers  many  threats  as  well  as 
promises. 

These  are  not  emotions  that  one  loves  to  communicate  to  a  friend  so 
dear  as  your  most  reverend  Excellency.  You  have  your  troubles,  you 
have  your  anxieties  ;  I  would  gladly  afford  you  consolation.  Can  I  do  so 
by  wearying  you  with  my  own  grievances  ?  I  think  not,  and  for  this 
reason  I  write  to  you  seldom  ;  but  as  I  am  well  assured  that  I  am  ever 
present  in  your  memory,  you  must  also  believe  that  the  recollection  of 
you  flits  ceaselessly  about  every  corner  of  my  heart. 

Think  of  that,  and  think  of  it  above  all  at  the  moments  when  you  can 
associate  me  with  the  service  of  God.  God  alone  supports  me,  in  God 
alone  is  my  hope  and  my  desire  ;  I  am  amazed  that  I  can  ever  have  looked 
in  any  other  direction.  I  tremble  before  the  judgments  of  Him,  Whose 
rigour  I  have  doubtless  only  too  well  deserved.  But  you  have  taught  me 
to  hope  also  in  His  pity,  and  it  seems  to  me  sometimes  that  my  faults,  in 
making  me  more  submissive  to  the  effects  of  His  goodness,  serve  at  least 
to  redouble  the  ardour  of  my  love  for  Him. 

Farewell,  my  friend.  Do  not  fail  to  thank  His  Holiness  for  the 
affectionate  words  with  which  he  was  recently  pleased  to  honour  liis  servant, 
and  once  more,  pray  for  her  whose  need  of  prayer  is  so  great. 

Given  at  Ferrara,  two  days  before  the  Kalends  of  January. 

LUCRETIA   BORGIA, 

Duchess  of  Ferrara. 


284 


LEO   X. 

BRUGES. 

A  panelled  chamber  in  carved  oak.  On  the  frieze,  the  arms  of  the  Belgian 
provinces,  painted  and  gilded  ;  above  the  great  chimneypiece,  the 
blazon  of  the  Empire ;  against  the  wall,  opposite  the  stained-glass 
window,  a  great  painting  of  the  German  School  representing  the  Last 
Judgment.  On  a  table,  a  Ughted  lamp,  open  dispatches. — Charles  V., 
in  an  arm-chair  before  the  table,  writing. 

A  PAGE  (entering)  :  The  very  reverend  Cardinal  of  Utrecht 

is  at  your  Imperial  Majesty's  orders. 

CHARLES  V. :  Let  him  come  in. 

ADRIAN  :   Caesar  has  sent  for  me  ? 

CHARLES  V. :  News  has  reached  me  of  the  sudden  death  of 

Leo  X.     I  wish  to  discuss  it  with  you. 

ADRIAN  :   Leo  X.  dead  ?     That  was  unexpected.     He  was 

only  forty-six.     Have  you  heard  the  details? 

CHARLES  V. :   My  Ambassadors  write  me  that  the  Pope 

choked  with  joy  at  learning  of  the  capture  of  Milan  and  the 

rout  of  the  French  by  his  troops.     But  here  is  a  secret  report 

from  the  master  of  the  Holy  Palace,  Paris  de  Grassis,  which 

gives  me  grounds  for  believing  that  he  was  poisoned. 

ADRIAN  :  Who  can  have  murdered  the  Pope,  and  why? 

CHARLES  V. :  Did  he  not  have  Petrucci  put  to  death  and 

confiscate  many  persons'  property  ?     However  that  may  be, 

Leo  X.  is  dead.     Be  seated. 

Adrian  takes  a  seat  near  the  table. 

What  do  you  think  of  this  event  ? 

ADRIAN  :  Christendom  is  in  a  sad  plight.     The  French  are 

beaten  ;   but  they  will  renew  the  conflict. 

CHARLES  V.  :  You  are  right.     Francis  I.  will  not  be  content 

to  live  in  peace.     Plis  is  a  turbulent  nature  ;    he  has  many 

formidable  defects  and  qualities.     He  wanted   the  Imperial 

crown.     I     gained     it.     He     wants     Burgundy,     he     wants 

Flanders ;  all  that  lie  wants  he  would  have  to  wrest  from  me, 

and  with  God's  aid  I  will  prevent  it. 

ADRIAN  :  These  are  serious  questions,  but  I  confess  to  you, 

Sire,  that  at  this  moment,  when  I  cast  my  mind's  eye  on  the 

285 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

now  empty  See  of  St.  Peter,  I  am  troubled  for  still  more  serious 
reasons.  Never  was  religion  in  so  great  a  peril.  For  years 
it  has  been  travelling  towards  a  precipice — now  it  is  on  the 
brink. 

CHARLES  V. :  It  is  on  the  brink,  and  the  precipice  is  bottom- 
less. You  are  right  in  saying  that  this  peril  is  more  intense 
and  more  formidable  than  the  others,  for  the  whole  world,  the 
whole  universe,  depends  on  this  power.  Religion,  which  is 
charged  with  the  mastery  of  heaven  and  earth ;  and  if  this 
power  totters,  all  must  crumble  away  beyond  hope  of  redemp- 
tion.    I  will  not  let  the  edifice  crumble. 

ADRIAN :  You  have  already  done  great  things  in  the 
handling  of  religious  questions  in  Germany. 
CHARLES  V. :  The  dangers  from  this  source  are  tremendous, 
and  if  I  had  not  sharply  stopped  the  chariot  which  the 
impetuous  horses  were  whirling  along,  the  evil  would  be 
already  past  all  remedy.  I  will  not  tolerate  heresy!  I  will 
not  compromise  with  the  worst  of  rebels,  I  will  not  allow  a 
moment's  rest  or  breathing-space  to  the  supporters  of  these 
scandalous,  poisonous,  unpardonable  outbreaks !  What !  The 
faith  of  Christ  is  menaced,  and  who  defends  it?  I — Caesar! 
As  for  the  Vicar  of  the  Apostles,  he  finds  (I  am  wrong  .  .  . 
happily  wrong.  .  .  he  found,  I  mean)  that  Luther  writes  well ; 
he  amused  himself  with  his  letters,  he  spoke  only  of  gentleness 
and  patience  regarding  that  firebrand !  .  .  .  I  am  there !  .  .  . 
Without  me,  Hell  would  triumph ! 
ADRIAN :  God  has  raised  you  up  to  be  a  Gideon. 
CHARLES  V. :  It  is  strange  that  neither  the  Pope  nor 
Francis  I.  understood  where  these  innovations  are  leading  us. 
Yet  one  has  only  to  observe  the  eagerness  of  the  petty  princes 
to  adopt  them  and  of  private  persons  to  go  mad  over  them. 
These  damnable  doctrines  exhale  the  poison  of  independence 
and  anarchy.  They  would  support  the  Electors  against  me, 
the  vassals  against  their  suzerains,  the  swarming  mob  against 
the  burgesses  of  the  towns.     The  Pope  imagined  that  from 

286 


,.,ji^^-^-N.               V. 

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w^K/mmillll^^^^k 

^^^^&E~  '  "   ''"   '       ^gyjgg^^l 

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T'o  /ac?  ^flg<  »86 


LEO   X. 

leaving  everyone  the  right  of  frothing  at  his  will,  no  more  harm 
would  result  than  from  letting  peasants  get  drunk  on  Sunday 
night.  But  there  comes  a  moment  when  the  drunkard  is  ill 
enough  to  fall  into  a  delirium,  and  I  see  clearly  that  it  is  time 
to  throttle  licence.  .  .  .  The  Vv^orld  is  being  filled  with  the 
insolent  pamphlets  of  an  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  not  to  mention 
the  rest.     Are  you  of  my  opinion? 

ADRIAN :  Most  certainly.  Two  vices,  going  hand  in  hand, 
are  fomenting  disorder,  the  mortal  foe  of  religion  and,  in 
consequence,  of  the  world :  ecclesiastical  perversity  and 
impious  tolerance,  the  sister  of  loose  morals. 
CHARLES  V. :  So  you  share  my  view  that  the  next  Pope 
would  have  to  break  with  the  worldly  habits  of  previous  reigns  ? 
ADRIAN  :  If  he  hesitates,  we  are  lost !  Pie  will  have  to  be 
a  Pope,  not  a  prince ;  a  theologian,  not  a  man  of  letters ;  an 
ascetic,  not  a  voluptuary.  Let  him  live  on  mouldy  bread  and 
coarse  herbs,  and  not  on  elaborate  dishes  served  on  platters 
of  gold  ;  I  would  see  him  use  only  wooden  porringers !  With 
his  beggar's  staff  he  must  break  the  idols  of  ancient  paganism, 
with  which  the  Holy  Palaces  are  crammed,  to  the  dire  scandal 
of  consciences,  and,  so  far  from  listening  with  delight  to  the 
rounded  phrases  of  the  Bembos  and  the  Vidas,  he  must  pack 
off  all  that  crew  to  the  prisons  of  the  Holy  Office  and  make 
them  taste  there  the  bitterest  penitence.  Yes,  Caesar ;  peni- 
tence, penitence,  that  alone  can  save  the  world !  I  mean,  save 
it  in  this  mortal  life  from  the  awful  convulsions  caused  by 
licence,  and  save  it  in  the  immortal  life  from  the  avenging 
flames  whose  tortures  we  grow  more  and  more  to  deserve ! 
CHARLES  V. :  An  austere  and  saintly  Pope,  an  Emperor 
resolved  to  share  his  labours  and  never  to  falter  in  the  defence 
and  glorification  of  the  Faith,  do  you  think  that  these  two 
powers,  well  cemented  together,  could  succeed  in  saving  the 
world  ? 

ADRIAN  :  There  exists  here  below  a  sum-total  of  domina- 
tion ;    it  is  never  greater  or  smaller,  but  different  periods, 

z  287 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

different  combinations  within  slates  distribute  it  in  many 
ditlerent  ways.  What  tlie  Luthers  and  their  supporters  at 
this  moment  desire,  what  the  insensate  priests  of  the  Papal 
court  tolerate,  is  the  minutest  subdivision  of  this  precious 
force ;  it  is  being  frittered  away  in  unworthy  hands.  But  if 
the  Pope  and  Caesar  were  in  agreement  to  unite  in  themselves 
the  whole  sovereign  authority  and  to  use  it  solely  for  the 
triumph  of  the  Cross,  what  a  sight  that  would  be!  What 
universal  happiness! 

CHARLES  V. :  I  am  the  Caesar,  and  you  are  the  Pope! 
ADRIAN  :  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  this  would  be  a  great 
misfortune  for  me,  whose  last  years  are  in  need  of  rest.     But 
it  would  be  a  blessing  for  men's  souls,  for  I  should  spare  no 
effort  in  the  work  of  salvation. 

CHARLES  V. :  You  have  not  understood  me.  Read  these 
dispatches.  The  Conclave  met  immediately  after  the  death 
of  Leo  X.  I  presented  the  truth  before  the  Cardinals'  eyes. 
They  saw  it.  They  elected  you.  The  Holy  Ghost  has 
descended  upon  you.  You  are  Pope,  I  tell  you,  as  I  am 
Emperor. 

ADRIAN  (joins  his  hands  and  keeps  them  clasped  against 
his  breast.  His  eyes  are  closed,  and  his  lips  murmur  a  prayer 
aloud.  A  moment's  silence)  :  I  am  myself  again.  What  event 
could  tax  a  feeble  creature  more  ?  The  hand  of  God  is  upon 
me ;  let  the  Lloly  Will  be  ifulfilled.  I  do  not  know,  my 
son,  whether,  in  what  has  occurred,  your  worldly  wisdom  has 
not  acted  against  the  freedom  of  election.  This  is  not  the 
time  to  look  into  that.  I  did  not  wish  or  ask  for  the  tiara. 
With  you  or  in  spite  of  you,  God  does  what  he  does  well.  I 
am  a  poor  man,  of  humble  birth,  hidden  away  hitherto  in  the 
squabbles  of  northern  cities ;  I  have  never  seen  Italy,  and  I 
shall  enter  the  Vatican  like  a  ragged  vagabond  whose  presence 
is  deemed  an  insult  to  the  splendour  of  a  Royal  palace.  Well, 
I  will  insult  that  splendour!  I  will  smite  it  hard !  And  if  it  so 
pleases  the  master  who  summons  me,  I  will  set  up  in  its  place 

288 


LEO   X, 

the  humility  aud  the  Christian  frugahty  whereof  our  need  is  so 
great ! 

CHARLES  V. :  Count  on  me,  Holy  Father,  as  on  an 
obedient  son.  Together,  we  too  are  all-powerful  for  good ; 
hence  we  must  accomplish  all  to  that  end!  The  armies,  the 
treasures,  the  intelligence,  the  thought  of  Cresar  shall  work 
for  you.  .  .  .  But  I  must  also  tell  you,  for  at  this  moment,  with 
your  hand  in  mine,  we  have  nothing  to  hide  from  each  other : 
do  not  falter,  do  not  draw  back,  do  not  fall !  For,  as  for  me, 
I  will  always  march  forward,  and  if  the  Church  retreats  or  hesi- 
tates, I  will  drag  it  along  in  spite  of  all ! 


END    OF    THE     FOURTH    PART 


Z    2  289 


FIF'l'H    PART 


MICHAEL   ANGELO 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

BEFORE    ROME. 

1527. 

The  camp  of  the  Imperial  troops. — Three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Long 
hnes  of  fires  indicate  the  hne  of  the  bivouacs  ;  the  sentinels  are  afoot ; 
the  companies,  the  battalions  are  lying  on  the  ground  ;  the  men  are 
asleep.  The  silence  is  broken  from  time  to  time  ;  a  musket-fire  is 
heard,  or  shouts.  One  tent  alone  is  raised,  that  of  the  general,  the 
Constable  de  Bourbon.  A  table  of  coarse  wood  bearing  a  tallow 
candle.  The  Constable  standing  in  full  armour,  except  his  helmet; 
he  walks  about  in  great  agitation.  Don  Fernando  D'Avalos, 
Marquis  of  Pescara,  Spanish  commander. 

CONSTABLE  :  What  am  I,  after  alL?  .  .  .  What  am  I  for  so 
great  a  crime,  a  deed  such  as  future  generations  will  not  be 
able  to  understand,  and  less  still  to  pardon!  Taking  Rome 
by  storm!  Taking  Rome,  dishonouring  her,  pillaging  her, 
violating  her !  Rome !  .  .  .  Only  the  most  savage  of  bar- 
barians could  have  dared  to  do  this !  For  them  alone,  heaven 
reserved  this  horror  ;  and  I,  am  I  to  begin  it  afresh  ?  Yes,  am 
I  to  couple  my  name  with  such  infamy?  I,  the  scion  of  the 
noblest  stock  that  ever  existed !  I,  the  descendant  of  kings, 
of  saints,  of  conquerors,  of  warriors,  am  I  to  emerge  from  this 
act  dripping  with  blood  and  shame  ?  .  .  .  No,  I  am  not  what  I 
describe  to  you,  Marquis!  .  .  .  Don't  believe  a  word  of  such 
fantastical  stuff !  ...  1 1  I  am  not  the  Constable  de  Bourbon 
at  all ;  I  am  a  man  of  straw,  insulted  in  every  possible  way 
by  Madame  de  Savoie,  by  M.  de  Bonnivet,  by  the  favourites, 
by  the  humblest  courtier,  by  the  go-betweens,  the  harlots,  and 
all  the  rabble  that  is  honoured  by  the  confidence  of  the  King! 
I  have  been  betrayed,  cheated,  flouted,  robbed,  banished ;  I 
wished  to  take  my  revenge,  and  with  rage  in  my  heart  and  a 
blush  on  my  brow,  my  honour  before  me,  I  woke  up  one 
morning  in  the  service  of  the  Emperor.  From  that  moment, 
under  the  name  of  chief  or  general,  I  have  become  less  than  the 
lackey  of  a  politician  who  is  mean,  crooked,  ferocious,  ignoble 
— yes,  ignoble!  ...  I  have  fallen  so  low  as  to  be  the  play- 
thing of  a  soldiery  dying  of  famine,  which  drives  mc  before  it 
to  lead  it  where  it  will,  throwing  on  me  the   responsibility 

293 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

for  its  excesses,  aiid  behind  this  mob,  Caesar  sliouts  to  me : 
Forward !  .  .  .   Why  don't  }'0U  go  forward  ? 
MAROL'IS :  h  IS  true,  my  Lord.     A  man  so  unhappy  as  you 
I  liave  never  known. 

CONSTABLE  :  What  could  I  do?     How  could  I  contrive  to 
escape  from  the  vice  in  which,  for  years  past,  I  have  felt  myself 
caught !     The  most  convenient  way  would  have  been  to  let 
myself  slip  mto  the  arms  of  Madame  de  Savoie  and  live  in  her 
good  graces.     I  sliould  have  been  loaded  with  favours ;  they 
would   have    deigned.  .  .  deigned !   ...  to   pay   me    for  my 
trouble  by  granting  me  for  so  vile  a  career  the  patrimony  of  my 
race !     King    Francis    would    have    forgiven    my    merits    on 
the  score  of  my  baseness  .  .  .  with  his  creatures,  I  should  have 
taken  part  in  the  spoliations,  and  have   been  congratulated. 
Honour  willed  it  otherwise.  .  .  .  Can  you  imagine.  Marquis, 
what   a  troublesome  beast  this   Honour   is  ?     Contrary,  dis- 
ordered, quarrelsome,  odious  to  any  man  of  peaceful  temper? 
I  should  have  consented  to  retire,  to  stand  aside,  to  live  on  my 
estate,  to  play  the  country  squire,  to  extinguish,  to  stifle  all 
the  activity  and  desire  for  good  that  I  felt  within  me.  ...  In 
short,  I  was  resigning  myself  to  count  in  my  family  pedigree  as 
nothing  but  one  of  those  good  idle  lords,  solely  praiseworthy 
for  not  having  allowed  the  race  to  die  out.     No !     I  made  a 
mistake!     Fly  the  court?     Not  salute,  not  burn  incense,  not 
say  "Amen"  to  the  perpetual   mass  chanted  in  honour  of 
sacrosanct  royalty  ?  .  .  .  I  had  the  air  of  a  malcontent !    Could 
I  be  allowed  to  rest  in  peace?     I  was  harassed,  threatened, 
entrapped ;    I  fled,  and  in  accordance  with  the  present  law, 
I  became  all  at  once  a  monster;   and  the  poor  worthy  man 
whom  we  saw  die  before  our  eyes.  Marquis,  that  M.  de  Bayard, 
fortunate  enough  to  have  received  from  heaven  the  signal 
happiness  of  a  simple  and  orderly  existence,  cursed  me  as  he 
died.     By  my  soul !     I  am  seized  by  a  temptation  to  curse  in 
turn  Heaven,  the  angels,  and  God,  who  have  dragged  me  to  a 
place  where,  of  my  own  free  will,  I  should  never  have  been 
tempted  to  go! 

294 


MICm.l.  AMiLLO    J;L0X.\I;R<  I'll 


To  face  page  ag4 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

I^.IARQUIS  :   Your  trials  are  hard,  my  Lord.     But  who  can 
foretell  the  end  ? 

CONSTABLE  :  I  tell  you,  by  the  light  of  many  years'  experi- 
ence, there  is  no  such  thing  as  justice  !  It  is  a  hollow  word,  an 
odious  mockery!  There  are  only  bloody  necessities,  the 
reason  for  which  we  cannot  imagine  ;  their  source  remains 
eternally  hidden.  What  I  see  is  that  good  and  evil  henceforth 
change  their  names,  their  habits  and  their  parts.  In  our  days 
there  are  no  more  princes,  no  more  noblemen,  in  a  word,  no 
more  men,  for  the  titles  of  prince  and  nobleman  only  served  in 
former  times  to  denote  those  who  were  more  of  men  than  the 
rest.  There  are  masters  and  flunlceys  and  dogs  that  are 
whipped,  and  when  the  flunkeys  do  not  cringe,  cringe  hmnbly 
before  their  masters,  they  are  thrashed  like  dogs !  That  is  the 
state  of  things  now  and  hereafter  in  the  world  !  King  Louis  XI. 
invented  the  method  ;  it  will  go  on  being  perfected. 
MARQUIS  :  Has  Pope  Clement  subjected  himself  to  the 
Emperor's  will  ?  Does  he  not  see  the  danger  ?  Nothing  can 
save  him  but  complete  obedience ! 

CONSTABLE  :  The  Pope  has  given  no  sign  of  life  since 
yesterday.  He  must  have  been  so  terror-stricken  that  he  no 
longer  knows  how  to  plan  or  to  act,  or  rather  he  has  recourse 
to  the  pitiful  cunning  of  those  insects  which,  when  threatened, 
roll  themselves  up,  draw  their  legs  into  their  body  and  their 
head  into  their  neck,  and  drop  without  movement,  leaving  the 
rest  to  chance. 

MARQUIS  :  Chance  will  give  him,  mercilessly,  the  fmishing 
stroke  ;  the  name  of  chance  is  Charles  V.,  and  it  knows  no 
forgiveness. 

THE  CONSTABLE  :  Tnie,  it  knows  no  forgiveness.  It  will 
strike ;  but  I  am  its  knife  ;  and  Caesar  will  not  fail  to  say  that 
he  never  intended  to  do  so  much  harm.  The  knife  will  be 
thrown  aside  with  well-feigned  disgust.  I  shall  be  disavowed. 
I  was  so  convinced  of  this  that  I  wished  to  resign  the  com- 
mand. That  was  foreseen,  and  you  know  whether  I  am  free. 
THE  MARQUIS  :    Except  our  Spanish  companies,  few  in 

295 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

number,  it  is  certain  that  your  Itali.m  or  German  troops  con- 
sist of  tlie  most  thoroughpaced  scoundrels  ever  seen. 
CONSTABLE  :  You  have  just  arrived  in  camp,  and  you  judge 
them  from  first  sight.     I  did  not  know  myself,  before  I  had 
experience,  what  the  Emperor  was  putting"  in  my  hands.     It  is 
a  red-hot  iron.     The  Lutheran  adventurers,  of  whom  they  have 
succeeded  in  purging  Germany,  form  the  nucleus  of  my  force. 
It  is  said  that  in  days  gone  by  the  Popes  Alexander  and 
Julius  II.  enlisted  Turks  ;  they  must  have  been  lambs  as  com- 
pared with  my  heretics ;  for  them,  to  insult  or  kill  a  priest  is 
a  labour  of  piety.     I  go  about  this  unhappy  Italy,  answering 
for  the  deeds  and  feats  of  these  wretches. 
MARQUIS  :    Heaven  has  endowed  Caesar  with  a  profound 
intellect ;  God  knows  who  could  succeed  in  fathoming  the  dark 
under-currents  of  the  reasons  that  make  him  act. 
CONSTABLE  :   I  could  not,  as  regards  what  does  not  con- 
cern me.     But  in  my  own  business  I  see  clearly.     Nothing 
sharpens  the  wits  so  much  as  long  oppression  and  misfortune. 
I  feel,  I  guess,  I  foreshadow  what  is  being  done  to  crush  me  ; 
I  unravel  the  motives.     Cassar  treats  me  as  you  misuse  a  horse 
that   does   not   belong   to    you.     On    his    Spanish,    German, 
Flemish  commanders  he  does  not  wish  to  impose  the  crushing 
burdens  that  break  the  back  and  soil  the  sides  of  a  servant ; 
but  on  my  back  he  puts  a  burden  of  this  sort — on  me  whom 
my  evil  star  has  given  into  his  hands,  and  whose  life  and  honour 
are  to  him'  a  matter  o'f  complete  indifference.     He  must  have 
a  crime  committed !     Without  confiding  anything  to  me,  he 
saddles  me  with  the  command  of  his  army,  and  it  was  only 
when  I  found  my  tongue,  when  I  looked  about  me,  when  I 
studied  my  lieutenants  and  my  soldiers  that  I  realised  how  the 
former  were  spies,  and  the  latter  the  scum  of  the  earth.     Yes, 
Marquis,  by  the  grace  of  Cassar,  I  am  a  brigand  captain.     That 
IS  the  lot  and  profession  of  a  Constable  de  Bourbon ;  do  you 
think  that  the  Seigneur  de  Bayard's  curse  has  borne  fruit? 
MARQUIS  :  Every  word  of  yours  wrings  my  heart.    I  recog- 
nise the  truth  of  what  you  say.     Caesar,  under  the  pretence  of 

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MICHAEL    ANGELO 

a  generosity  that  is  expected  of  his  rank,  aimed  only,  through 
you,  at  damaging  the  royal  house  of  France ;  he  is  lowering 
and  humiliating  his  rival  as  much  as  he  can.  Yes,  my  Lord, 
}'OU  have  good  cause  to  complain  of  Heaven.  Fate  had  no 
right  to  treat  you  thus.  In  leaving  your  mother-country  and 
your  liege  lord,  you  did  as  I  should  have  done  in  your  place. 
I  know  that  nowadays  this  is  a  principle  tending  to  take 
root — that  a  man  must  undergo  everything,  injustice,  cruelty, 
insolence ;  accept  everything  with  bowed  head,  when  these 
outrages  are  inflicted  by  those  who  have  the  power  to 
move  the  wires  of  the  hollow  and  ridiculous  doll  which  we  call 
Our  Country.  She  is  an  idol  of  wood.  She  moves  her  arms 
and  legs,  opens  and  closes  her  mouth,  rolls  her  eyes  wide.  Any 
quack  who  comes  along  can  set  her  in  motion.  They  speak 
for  her,  since  of  herself  she  does  not  exist.  Yet  for  the  benefit 
of  these  rascals,  and  in  the  name  of  this  artificial  machine,  they 
have  invented  I  know  not  how  many  fine  phrases ;  but  these 
are  the  precepts  of  slaves,  of  helots,  of  wretches  who  have  lost 
two  thirds  of  their  manhood.  A  man  has  a  right  to  receive  as 
much  as  he  gives ;  if  his  country  and  his  sovereign  claim 
respect,  let  them  respect  themselves  ;  otherwise,  we  no  longer 
owe  them  anything.  Your  sovereign,  your  country,  have 
struck  you  in  the  face,  and  you  have  returned  the  blow ;  5-00 
have  acted  quite  rightly,  and  have  by  no  means  deserved  the 
hateful  punishment  of  falling  under  the  dominion  of  Caesar, 
and  of  being  carried  away  by  this  torrent  against  the  walls  of 
Rome,  which  you  are  going  to  overthrow  to  your  own  real 
sorrow. 

CONSTABLE  :  It  is  time  for  you  to  go,  noble  Marquis.  The 
Emperor  treats  you  with  a  consideration  which  he  no  longer 
thinks  due  to  me.  Your  orders  are  precise  ;  you  are  to  leave 
the  army  with  your  companies  and  march  on  Naples  this  very 
night 

MARQUIS:  My  heart  bleeds.  I  would  rather  stay  with  you 
and  support  your  efforts  to  put  some  check  upon  the  evil, 

297 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

CONSTABLE  :    You  cannot,  you  must  not.     The  Emperor 
is  a  generous  master  to  you.     Obey  him.     Good-bye ! 
MAROUIS  :  We  shall  meet  af^am. 

CONSTABLE:  I  do  not  know.  .  .  .  I  do  not  wish  it.  Good- 
bye !  When  you  are  with  the  noble  Marchioness,  assure  her 
of  the  respects  of  her  humble  servant. 

I\L\ROLTS:  Madam  Vicloria  knows  well  the  {jrealncss  of 
your  soul,  and  I  have  often  seen  the  tears  come  to  her  eyes  and 
flood  them'  at  the  recital  of  your  woes. 

CONSTABLE  :  Good-bye!  To  the  end  of  my  days  I  shall 
remember  you,  noble  Fernando  d'Avalos.  I  shall  recall  your 
friendship  for  a  disinherited  man  .  .  .  your  peerless  courage 
in  the  field,  the  nobility  of  your  soul,  greater  still  than  that 
of  your  rank.  ...  I  shall  remember  you,  Fernando!  .  .  . 
Embrace  me !  .  .  .  Good-bye ! 

THE  MARQUIS:  Good-bye,  my  lord,  and  may  Heaven 
grow  weary  of  overwhelming  you  with  troubles  that  you  do 
not  deserve ! 

CONSTABLE:  No  matter!  .  .  .  Good-bye.  .  .  .  Go!  .  .  . 
The  first  streak  of  dawn  must  not  see  you  here.  Besides, 
I  hear  my  gaolers,  my  masters,  my  officers.  .  .  .  They  come  to 
impose  their  will  upon  me,  under  pretext  of  carrying  out  mine. 
I  would  not  have  a  meeting  between  the  purest  loyalty  and  the 
meanest  baseness.  .  .  .  Go! 

They  shake  hands  ;  the  Marquis  goes  out. 
Enter  Captain  Georg  von  Frundsberg,  commander  of  the  Lutheran 
Landsknechts  ;  a  zealous  partisan  of  the  Reformer,  a  thorough 
soldier,  a  great  plunderer  ;  he  wears  a  long  white  beard,  which 
hangs  down  on  his  cuirass  ;  Captain  Alessandro  Vitelli,  and  Piero 
Maria  de'  Rossi,  commander  of  the  Italian  light  horse  ;  Don 
Antonio  de  Leyva,  commander  of  the  Tercios ;  Alarcon  and 
Lannoy,  Spanish  leaders. 

FRUNDSBERG  :  We  are  at  your  orders,  my  Lord.  If  it 
please  you,  we  will  hold  a  council  and  decide  upon  the  final 
measures,  so  tliat  immediately  on  the  break  of  day,  without 
more  ado,  the  assault  may  be  made. 

CON.STABLE :  Take  these  stools,  gentlemen,  and  be 
seated.     I  have  an  idea  to  lay  before  you, 

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MICHAEL    ANGELO 

ANTONIO  DE  LEYVA:  We  are  listening. 
CONSTABLE  :  If  all  of  you,  captains,  or  the  majority  of  you, 
accept  my  advice,  we  will  yet  send  a  spokesman  to  the  Pope, 
at  this  moment. 

FRUNDSBERG:  With  what  object?  We  will  all  go  as 
spokesmen,  and  when  we  are  in  Clement  VII. 's  presence,  and 
Clement  VII.  is  in  ours,  we  shall  come  to  an  agreement  more 
speedily. 

CONSTABLE  :   I  do  not  believe  that  the  Emperor  intends 
to  precipitate  matters  thus  and  carry  them  to  an  extreme. 
LANNOY :  Certainly  you  know  better  than  we  do,  Monsignor, 
what  you  think  of  Caesar's  intentions  ;   but,  as  for  us,  I  mean 
myself  and  my  comrades,  we  have  come  so  as  to  get  pay  for  our 
troops ;  the  men  have  not  been  paid  these  two  years  past.  You 
promised  us  the  pillage  of  Milan,  then  the  sack  of  Florence, 
and  finally  that  of  Bologna.     Have  you  kept  your  word  ? 
FRUNDSBERG :  No,  indeed,  my  lord  has  not  kept  his  word, 
and  it  is  time  to  make  an  end.     The  soldier  must  eat. 
LANNOY  :  Thus  it  is  our  business  to  recapture  Rome,  and  I 
conclude  that  it  is  no  longer  the  time  to  recoup  ourselves  with 
words !     Let  us  march ! 

CONSTABLE  :  Monsieur  de  Lannoy,  you  are  mounting  the 
high  horse. 

LANNOY  :  I  am  frank  as  a  sword ;  I  honour  you  profoundly, 
but  I  shall  do  what  must  be  done. 

FRUNDSBERG:  And  so  shall  we.  Go  on,  Lannoy;  what 
you  say  is  well  said. 

THE  OTHER  GENERALS:  Bravo!  Enough  of  hesitation ! 
LANNOY :  Since  I  express,  as  you  see,  my  lord,  the  opinion 
of  the  Council,  decide !  I  am  resolved !  Yes,  let  us  start  soon, 
at  break  of  day — nay,  at  once,  for  the  day  is  breaking!  .  .  . 
It  will  see  me  at  the  head  of  my  companies!  Why,  I  am 
there  already!  Do  you  hear  the  drums?  Do  you  hear  the 
trumpets  and  clarions?  To  the  march,  my  lord!  To  the 
assault!  If  you  do  not  come  with  us,  if  you  hesitate  to  put 
yourself  at  our  head.  .  .  . 

299 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

CONSTABLE  :  1  do  not  refuse  .  .  .  but  I  say.  .  .  . 
FRUNDSBERG:   I  say  that  you  are  marching!     Forward, 
my  lord !   The  Council  is  over.   1  have  conveyed  to  my  men  the 
orders  you  are  going  to  give  us  yourself.     Let  the  tent  be 
opened  !     To  horse  ! 

The  curtains   of   the  tent  are   violently   parted.     The   clay   dawns  ; 

^  soldiers'  cries  are  heard  on  all  sides  ;  the  troops  begin  to  move  ; 

,,  ca\alry,   infantry,   rush   to   the   walls   of    Rome.      The   cannon 

thunders  on  the   left,  and  terrible  shouts  are  mingled  with  the 

f?\   ''         repeated  firing.     Disorderly  bands  surround  the  tent. 

SOLDIERS  :  To  the  assault !  To  the  assault !    The  Constable ! 

Where  is  he  ?     Let  him  hasten !     Forward  !  forward !   Mon- 

seigneur !     Monseigneur  de  Bourbon  !     Come  !     Death  to  the 

Pope  !     Death  to  the  Cardinals !     To  the  sack !     To  the  sack ! 

FRUNDSBERG:  Well,  my  lord,  what  would  you?     If  you 

tarry,  I  shall  not  answ^er  for  the  consequences. 

CONSTABLE  :  My  horse! 

SOLDIERS:  Here  he  is!     Mount!  mount!     Come!     Long 

live  Bourbon!     Death  to  the  Pope!     Plunder!  plunder! 

The  Constable,  Georg  von  Frundsberg,  all  the  captains  get  into  the 
saddle,  and  the  troops  surround  tliem  and  hustle  them  along. 

FRUNDSBERG  (sword  in  hand) :  Valiant  comrades!     Look 

at  my  saddle  bow !     See  these  ropes !     They  are  to  bind  the 

Pope  and  his  creatures ! 

THE  SOLDIERS:  Yes!  yes!     Let  us  take  them!     Let  us 

hang  them  !     Death !  sack !  plunder ! 

AN  OFFICER  (galloping  up) :   I  come  from  the  Porta  del 

Popolo!    The  entry  is 'forced  !    The  artillery  has  broken  down 

everything ;  yet  the  citizens  defend  themselves,  and  we  need 

reinforcements. 

FRUNDSBERG:   Bravo,  my  lord!     Yours  is  the  glory  of 

entering  first ! 

The  generals  gallop  off ,  followed  by  the  men-at-arms,  the  Landsknechts, 
who  utter  loud  cries  and  chant  a  Lutheran  psalm. 

SOLDIERS:   Sing  with  us,  Constable!  sing! 

FRUNDSBERG  :   Sing,  my  lord.     These  fellows  will  only 

run  the  faster  for  it ! 

CONSTABLE:  I  am  no  Lutheran! 

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lo  face  plight  300 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

FRUNDSBERG  :  You  are  our  General,  aiid  should  neglect 
nothing  that  can  lead  to  success !     Come,  let  us  sing,  my  lord ! 
He  begins  to  sing  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  waving  his  sword,  and  con- 
tinues his  gallop  ;  the  artillery  fire  is  heard  all  along  the  Unes  ; 
the  musket  fire  is  mingled  with  it  ;  the  defenders  of  Rome  reply, 
but  feebly. 


ON    THE    RAMPARTS, 
Some    Italian  cross-bowmen  and  Swiss,   both  few  in  number  ;   citizens, 
poorly  armed. 

FIRST    CITIZEN    (after   firing   his   cross-bow) :    One   man 

down  every  time ! 

SECOND  CITIZEN  :  Look !     I'll  hit  that  fellow  by  his  side ! 

Shoots. 

THIRD  CITIZEN:  How  few  troops  we  have!  Death  of 
Christ !     They  want  to  put  us  to  the  sword ! 

There  runs  up  a  troop  of  young  men  and  artists,  all  armed. 
IE  ROSSO  :  Fire  on  that  heretic  scum!  General  firing, 

BENVENUTO  CELLINI:  Zounds!  Head  and  blood  of 
Christ !  Room  there,  room !  You  shall  see  a  shot  from  my 
hand  !  My  cross-bow  has  never  missed.  xakes  aim  and  fires. 
AN  ARTIST:  Missed! 

CELLINI:  You're  blind!  Look!  Now  that  the  smoke  is 
dispersing,  just  look !  I  fired  into  the  midst  of  that  crowd  of 
men  in  plumes  and  gilded  cuirasses.  One  of  them  fell ;  I  am 
certain  of  it.  A  horse  is  flying,  with  saddle  empty. 
A  CITIZEN  :  The  Swiss  are  abandoning  us,  and  the  cross- 
bowmen,  too.  Why?  .  .  .  Ho,  my  lord  officer,  if  you  take 
away  the  soldiers,  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
OFFICER:  What  you  please!  The  gates  arc  battered  in. 
The  Pope  has  withdrawn  to  the  Castle  of  St  Angelo.  I  have 
orders  to  rally  our  men,  and  I  advise  you  to  go  to  your  homes. 
CELLINI  :  My  word,  he's  right!  There  are  the  Germans  at 
the  end  of  the  street.  They  knock  like  the  deaf!  Fly,  and 
devil  take  the  hindmost !     It's  no  timg  for  sitting  still. 

Leaps  down  from  the  wall ;  the  spectators  disperse  ;  the  last  are  struck 
by  the  halberds  of  the  Landsknechts. 


301 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

IN    THE    CASTLE    OF    ST.    ANGELO. 

A    chamber. — Pope    Clement    VII.,    Don    Hugo    do    Moncada,    Imperial 
Ambassador. 

THE  POPE  (in  deep  agitation)  :  It  is  a  crime  against  the 
Deity.  The  Emperor,  this  time,  in  daring  to  assault  our 
person,  is  attacking  God  himself.  He  will  answer  for  it  with 
his  hopes  of  eternal  salvation. 

MONCADA:  I  doubt  not,  Holy  Father,  that  the  Emperor 
will  be  sorely  grieved  when  he  hears  what  has  been  done.  It 
is  you  who  let  loose  these  great  disasters,  this  dreadful 
catastrophe  ;  the  blame  does  not  rest  with  him. 
THE  POPE  :  What,  not  with  him  ?  Do  you  dare  to  deny 
that  at  this  moment,  at  this  very  moment,  when  we  hear  the 
cries  of  my  subjects  as  they  are  being  butchered,  when  before 
you  there  stands  the  successor  of  Peter  chased  to  his  last  lair 
like  a  wild  beast — do  you  dare  to  deny  that  the  perpetrators  of 
these  misdeeds  are  the  soldiers  of  Caesar  ?  That  these  terrible 
assassins  march  under  his  banners  ?  Is  it  not  your  generals 
who  lead  them?  What  do  you  mean?  Are  you  going  to 
kill  me  ? 

MONCADA :  Ploly  Father,  on  my  knees  I  implore  you  to  be 
cairn.  ...  Be  calm.  .  .  .  You  are  in  no  danger  whatever 
...  for  the  present,  at  any  rate. 

THE  POPE  :  Do  you  assert  that  there  is  any  longer  more 
than  a  single  wall  between  the  violation  of  my  person  and  those 
tigers  thirsting  for  my  blood  ?  The  wall  is  weak,  I  know  it. 
.  .  .  My  soldiers  ?  You  have  counted  them  ;  their  number  is 
small.  What  will  you  do  with  me,  Senor  de  Moncada  ? 
MONCADA :  We  have  entreated  you  to  reject  the  deceptive 
and  worthless  alliance  with  France.  We  have  implored  you 
not  to  make  common  cause  with  the  Venetians,  the  Swiss,  the 
Florentines,  that  assemblage  of  States  without  honour  or 
power,  which  is  being  driven  on  against  the  unchanging  and 
unconquerable  might  of  the  Emperor  by  Francis  I.,  our 
prisoner  of  yesterday,  a  man  of  no  faith.  You  have  not 
hstened  to  us.     You  support  the  rebels.     And,  when  our  sole 

302 


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MICHAEL    ANGELO 

object  is  to  save  religion,  to  restore  peace  and  to  pacify  Italy, 
you,  Holy  Father,  you  bolster  up  disorder  and  maintain  the 
standard  of  crime  in  accordance  with  the  misguided  policy  of 
your  predecessors !  Surely  experience  should  have  taught 
you  the  dangers  of  such  a  course. 

THE  POPE  :  No!  no!  no!  I  have  done  what  any  ruler  in 
my  place  would  have  attempted.  I  have  desired  to  preserve 
the  dignity  of  the  Holy  See,  the  liberty  of  the  Christian  State. 
Your  Imperial  eagle  digs  its  sharp  talons  into  the  flanks  of  a 
panic-stricken  Europe  ;  it  tries  to  devour  all,  to  swallow  all ! 
...  If  Caesar  attained  his  professed  aims,  no  freedom  would 
remain  in  this  world.  Have  we  not  seen  him  encroach  with 
his  will  even  on  the  pontifical  chair,  when  he  set  up  that 
phantom  Pope,  our  predecessor,  his  former  tutor,  a  man  of 
straw,  who,  fortunately,  did  not  long  make  a  laughing-stock 
of  the  first  throne  in  the  world  ? 

MONCADA :  Caesar's  aims  are  for  the  best,  and  for  nothing 
else ;  he  will  do  the  best !  Know,  since  you  seem  to  have 
forgotten  it,  that  there  exist  here  below  only  two  lawful  powers, 
charged  by  God  Himself  with  preserving  order :  the  Pope 
and  the  Emperor.  The  rest  is  of  the  devil,  or  arises  only  by 
accident.  The  Empire  and  the  Papacy  are  everything,  and 
when  one  of  the  two  fails  in  its  mission,  it  falls  to  the  other 
to  unite  the  two  sceptres  in  one  hand  and  achieve  what 
holy  religion  demands.  Formerly  the  Suabian  Emperors* 
betrayed  their  trust ;  they  wished  to  estrange  the  nations  from 
the  cradle  of  Jesus  Christ ;  the  great  Popes,  Innocent  III.  and 
Gregory  VII.,  justly  smote  them  with  the  powerful  crook; 
since  the  beginning  of  this  century,  and  even  before  then  it  is 
the  Popes  who,  in  their  turn,  have  strayed  from  the  path  ; 
they  are  without  morals,  without  will-power,  they  abandon  the 
faithful,  they  allow  their  clergy  to  browse  at  will  in  the 
pastures   of   corruption,    dissolution,    and    heresy;    they    are 

•  i.e.,  The  Hohcnstaufcn  (i  138-1254). —Tr, 

2  A  303 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

themselves  pagans !     Hence  it  is  Caesar  who  will  draw  the 
sword  and  renew  the  work  of  the  Redeemer ! 
THE    POPE  :    By   flooding    the    city    with    filth    from    the 
Lutheran  sink  ? 

JMOXCADA  :  To  }'ou,  Holy  Father,  to  Leo,  your  predecessor, 
we  owe  the  rise  and  development  of  that  canker  in  the  sides 
of  the  Church!  Towards  the  man  of  Wittenberg  you  show 
nothing  but  complaisance  and  most  disastrous  weakness.  You 
allowed  the  princes  of  the  Empire  to  become  spellbound  by 
that  traitor's  words,  and  it  is  well  known  that  if  the  matter 
had  rested  with  you  alone,  a  little  money,  great  God !  a  paltry 
sum  to  which  you  limited  your  desires,  would  have  purchased 
from  you  a  scandalous  compromise  with  the  reformers. 
THE  POPE  :  You  slander  the  memory  of  Leo ! 
MON CADA  :  He  was  occupied  with  nothing  but  statues, 
pictures,  books,  verses,  banquets  and  amusements,  and,  mark 
me  well !  this  reputation  will  cling  to  him  throughout  the  ages. 
Accordingly,  Caesar,  seeing  the  P^aith  dying  on  a  truckle-bed 
of  oblivion,  with  no  one  in  her  hour  of  need  to  take  compas- 
sion on  her  lips  that  thirst  for  pity,  Caesar  resolved  to  stay 
the  disorderly  career  of  tlic  age  and  lead  men's  erring  con- 
sciences back  to  religion.  At  the  same  time,  he  will  bring 
back  under  Imperial  sway  those  rebels  of  all  kinds  who,  since 
the  beginning  of  the  barbarous  period,  have  succeeded,  to 
their  ow^n  disadvantage,  in  making  themselves  free.  Caesar  is 
speaking  in  the  name  of  God.  He  is  Caesar,  he  has  the  right. 
It  is  necessary  to  save  souls  for  Heaven  and  uphold  the  title  of 
the  Roman  Emperor.  Plere  is  no  question  of  the  caprices  of 
Italy,  v,'hich  is  but  one  province  ;  of  the  license  of  one,  of  the 
whims  of  another  ;  but,  I  tell  you  once  more,  of  universal  salva- 
tion in  this  world  and  the  next ;  and  you,  as  Pope,  first  of  all, 
since  you  have  not  wished  to  go  with  Caesar,  you  will  obey 
him  and  bow  to  his  will ! 

POPE  :  Thus  spake  those  tyrants  whose  name  has  become  a 
byword !     I  am  the  head  of  the  Church,  and  the  breath  of  Hell 

304 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

could  not  overturn  me !  I  may  suffer,  my  person  may  vanish, 
but  the  Pope  never  dies. 

MONCADA:  We  revere  the  Pope!  God  forbid  that  my 
master  should  ever  lay  hand  on  the  vicar  of  Christ !  We  would 
not  touch  his  slightest  privileges !  still  less  his  sanctity.  .  .  . 
But  if  I  must  speak  plainly,  Holy  Father — we  whose  pure 
faith  is  'well-known  throughout  the  world ;  we  who  are  free 
from  the  slightest  suspicion  of  heterodoxy — we  who  are  track- 
ing down  everywhere,  in  Spain,  Flanders,  the  Indies,  all  the 
vestiges  of  rebellion  against  the  Church,  and  that  with  a  rigour 
such  as  you  have  never  shown  ;  we  who  put  to  death  without 
scruple  and  without  fear,  at  the  public  stake,  all  flesh  that 
revolts  against  tradition  ;  we,  I  tell  you  frankly,  shall  leave 
Clement  VII.  out  of  the  question  and  shall  treat  Giulio  de' 
Aledici*  with  an  upright  and  unswer\^ing  strictness  ;  we  shall 
pursue  him'  even  to  the  point  of  deposition,  we  shall  tear  the 
pontifical  purple  from  his  shoulders,  we  shall  deport  him,  we 
shall  imprison  him,  if  we  must  give  up  all  hope  of  amending 
him,  of  teaching  him  wisdom! 

THE  POPE  :  And  while  you,  you  .  .  .  you  give  yourself 
out  as  an  ambassador  of  peace,  dispatched  to  our  person,  you 
dare,  in  my  last,  hazardous  coign  of  refuge,  to  use  such  words 
to  me !  You  have  calculated  well  the  pitch  of  defeat  to  which 
you  have  reduced  me.  You  gaze  at  me  with  a  confident  smile, 
in  the  midst  of  my  oppressed  people,  the  ravished  Holy  City, 
with  its  churches  on  fire,  amid  the  flames  and  the  cries  and  the 
blood  and  despair!  And  that  is  what  Caesar  calls  serving 
the  Catholic  cause ! 

MONCADA  :  It  is  indeed  a  service  to  strike  down  the  wolves 
clad  in  the  desecrated  garb  of  shepherds ! 
THE  POPE  :  Well,  what  do  you  expect  of  me  ?     Let  me  go ! 
Let  me,   nay  make  me,  run   the  gauntlet  of  your  criminal 
soldiers!     Take  all,  pillage  all,  triumph,  and  let  me  retire  to 

•  Giulio  de'  Medici  became  Pope  under  the  title  of  Clement  VII. 
Thi  point  is  that  he  is  to  be  treated  as  a  Medici,  his  Papal  position  being 
/eft  out  of  the  reckoning. — Tr. 

2   A    2  305 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

some  spot  or  other  where  I  am  allowed  to  end  in  peace  the 
days  that  you  g^rant  me ! 

MONCADA  :  JMy  orders  are  peremptory  ;  I  could  not  depart 
from  them  in  the  slightest  detail.     You  will  remain  here,  Holy 
Father,  until  you  submit  to  our  righteous  demands. 
THE  POPE:   Expound  them.     What  is  your  desire? 
MONCADA  :  The  means  of  ensuring  the  triumph  of  reason, 
of  justice,  of  truth,  and  of  the  interests  of  the  Church. 
THE  POPE  :    These  are  but  phrases.     Formulate  your  re- 
quirements.    Stale  expressly  what  Caesar  commands.     That 
which  I  should  not  have  agreed  to  yesterday,  that  which  I 
should  have  refused  two  hours  ago,  I  am  now  perhaps  humbled 
enough  to  yield ! 

MONCADA :  We  demand  your  renunciation  of  the  alliance 
with  the  P^rench,  the  Venetians,  the  Florentines,  the  Swiss,  and 
all  who  are  evilly  disposed.  We  demand  that  you  become 
united  to  us  for  good  and  all,  as  closely  as  flesh  to  bone  and 
as  the  crook  be  to  the  sceptre. 

THE  POPE  :  Ah,  unhappy,  thrice  unhappy  Italy!  Thy  days 
would  then  be  over!  Thy  princes,  thy  republics  would  be  no 
more  than  slaves  of  the  Flemings!  Was  this  disgrace  the 
predestined  end  of  thy  glorious  efforts  for  more  than  a  century 
past?  But  speak,  go  on — I  am  listening. 
MONCADA :  You  will  restore  to  us  Ostia,  Civita  Vecchia, 
Civita  Castellana,  Parma,  Piacenza,  Modena,  all  that  you  still 
hold  ;  Imperial  garrisons  will  incline  the  inhabitants  to  learn 
the  will  of  Caesar.  In  the  next  place  four  hundred  thousand 
ducats  will  be  paid  us  as  compensation  for  the  troops  employed 
at  this  moment  in  Rome,  whom  I  shall  cause  to  be  withdrawn. 
Finally,  we  shall  occupy  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo. 
THE  POPE  (hiding  his  head  in  his  hands  a  moment,  then 
raising  it) :  I  refuse. 

MONCADA :  Then  I  have  nothing  further  to  say  to  you.  I 
will  take  my  leave.  But,  previously,  I  should  like  to  be  able 
to  inform  Caesar  that  you  thoroughly  understand  the  state  of 

306 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

affairs  and  the  extent  of  your  responsibility.     Deign,  Holy 
Father,  to  consider  the  turn  events  are  taking. 

He  opens  a  window  looking  out  on  the  town. 
Look  at  your  work !  Say  if  you  wish  this  to  go  on ! 
THE  POPE  :  Yes,  I  will  look,  I  will  see  your  sacrileges — 
all  that  you  have  ordered,  arranged,  planned  and  plotted  for 
months  past!  Yes,  I  will  look!  Think  not  that  I  am  a 
womanish  creature !  I  can  behold  at  leisure  the  display  of 
your  villainy!  I  will  not  falter — I  will  not  weep!  Well,  I 
will  look.  ...  I  am  looking!  There  is  a  man  being  chased 
.  .  .  now  he  is  disembowelled  by  a  halberd  stroke.  .  .  .  Cer- 
tainly I  see  I  .  .  .  His  blood  will  recoil — on  whose  head  ?  .  .  . 
Ah,  my  God!  women  and  children  harried  by  your  hireling 
rabble  of  unbridled  fiends!  Ah,  what  villainy!  .  .  .  Let  me 
see  ...  it  is  frightful !  .  .  .  Monks  .  .  .  beaten  .  .  .  bloody. 
.  .  .  Oh,  it  is  not  possible — not  possible !  Cardinals,  grey- 
beards clad  in  purple  .  .  .  fettered,  struck  down,  dragged  on 
the  pavements,  beaten !  .  .  .  No  .  .  .  no.  ...  I  can  look  no 
more.  .  .  .  What  a  hideous  nightmare ! 

Totters  and  falls  into  a  chair.     Don  Hugo  de  Moncada  bows  and 
goes  out. 


30; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

A    STREET. 
Pikcsmen,  cross-bowmen,  Swiss. 

FIRST  PIKES.MAN  :   We  need  a  man  to  carry  the  booty 

home.     You   are    not  going   to   put   those    coffers   on   your 

shoulders  ? 

A  SWISS  :  It  would  have  been  better  to  spare  the  boy.     He 

would  have  served  us  as  a  beast  of  burden. 

FIRST  CROSS-BOWMAN  :  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  lodge 

a  bullet  in  someone's  head ;  I  don't  regret  my  shot. 

SECOND    PIKESMAN :    Besides,    we    are    avenging    our 

general ;    since  the  Romans  have  killed  him,  let  us  kill  the 

Romans !     Look — here  is  a  door  that  is  not  yet  stove  in ! 

THE  SWISS  :  We'll  break  it  down! 

The  soldiers  assail  the  door  with  the  butts  of  their  cross-bows  and 
halberds.     It  opens,  II  Rosso  appears. 

SOLDIERS  (beating  him):  What,  popinjay,  you  don't  open 

when  you  are  paid  a  visit?     You  deserve  a  lesson!     We'll 

sack  the  house ! 

IE  ROSSO  :  Gentlemen,  I  have  little  money — it  is  yours !    But 

I  am  a  painter,  and  I  beg  you  not  to  destroy  my  drawings  and 

my  bric-a-brac. 

SECOND  CROSS-BOWMAN  :  You'll  see  how  we  rate  your 

bnc-a-brac  and  yourself,  too!     Strip  him  naked!     It  will  be 

fine  sport  to  use  him  as  a  mule,  and  he  will  feel  the  stick  more 

thoroughly ! 

SOLDIERS  :  Good !     Naked  as  a  worm — and  kick  him  well ! 

XL  ROSSO  :  Gentlemen,  I  implore  you! 

THIRD  PIKESMAN  :  You  say  you  are  a  painter? 

IE  ROSSO  :  Yes,  I  am  a  painter. 

THIRD  PIKESMAN  :  They  say  it  was  a  painter  who  killed 

the  Constable.     We'll  serve  you  in  the  same  way! 

A  SWISS  :  By  the  devil,  no !     It  is  agreed  that  he  shall  carry 

the  coffers.     We'll  kill  him  afterwards ;    but  let  us  loot  the 

house  at  once ! 

308 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 
SOLDIERS:  Good! 

WTiile  one  part  of  the  mercenaries  tears  II  Rosso's  clothes  Irom  his 
back  and  beats  him,  the  house  is  ransacked  ;  the  pictures  are 
torn,  scraps  of  drawings  fij^  through  the  windows,  with  fragments 
of  furniture  and  tapestry,  then  the  house  is  set  on  fire.  An 
officer  passes. 

OFFICER  :  What  are  you  doing-  to  this  man? 

SOLDIERS :  Nothing-.     He  is  kind  enough  to  carry  for  us 

some  chests  that  we  have  just  bought. 

IE  ROSSO  :  Sir,  I  implore  you,  rescue  me!     I  am  a  painter, 

I  am  II  Rosso  !     I  have  just  lost  all  my  works ! 

OFFICER :  Leave  the  poor  fellow  alone,  give  him  back  his 

clothes!     The    Captain,    Georg   Frundsberg,    orders   you    to 

return  to  your  banners.     You  hear  the  trumpets  call  to  the 

standard  ?     March  !     Leave  this  man,  I  tell  you ! 

A  LANDSKNECHT  :  And  /  tell  you  that  I  know  nothing  of 

you,     do    you    hear?     Are     you    my     captain?     No!     My 

lieutenant?     No!     Who  tells  mc  you  are   not  the  Pope  in 

disguise  ? 

SOLDIERS  :  It's  true  !     What  tale  does  that  fellow  come  to 

tell  us? 

OFFICER  :  I  have  the  General's  orders.  .  .  . 

SOLDIERS:   Devil  take  your  Generals,  and  you,  too!     Do 

you  hear,  sir?     Be  off,  or  it'll  be  the  worse  for  you! 

The  officer  retires. 

A  PIKESMAN  (to  II  Rosso):  And  you,  if  you  complain  to 
anyone,  you'll  get  my  dagger  full  in  your  chest ;  you  under- 
stand, I  hope?     March,  scoundrel! 

The  soldiers  drag  along  II  Rosso  and  redouble  their  blows. 


309 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

FLORENCE. 
A  public  square. 

CELLINI:  Well?  what's  afoot  here ? 

SEVERAL  \'01CES:  We're  driving  out  the  Medici  again! 
Long  live  the  liberty  of  Florence ! 

CELLINI :   Now  I  have  come  from  Rome,  and  have  seen 
rare  sights ! 

THE  CROWD  :  Is  the  Pope  set  free? 

CELLINI :    He's   caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.     Nothing  is 
allowed  to  pass  in  to  him  at  Fort  St.  Angelo ;   and  what  he 
and  his  men  have  to  live  on,  God  in  his  infinite  mercy  alone 
knows.     In  short,  they  are  dying  of  hunger,  and,  all  this  while, 
the  Imperial  troops  continue  making  havoc  of  everything. 
THE  CROWD  :  You  have  seen  this  with  your  own  eyes? 
CELLINI :  I  have  just  come  from  the  spot.     I  have  seen,  on 
the  deserted  square,  crossed  with  tottering  steps  by  drunken 
and  disbanded  soldiers,  heaps  of  dead  to  the  right  and  heaps 
of  dead  to  the  left ;  a  man  dying  at  the  corner  of  this  boundary- 
stone,  a  woman  doubled  up,  her  arms  outspread,  on  that.  What 
I  have  seen,  is  church  doors  battered  in  ;    surplices,   stoles, 
dalmatics,  trailing  in  soiled  tatters  on  the  flagstones  of  the 
basilicas,  or  hanging  in  wretched  rags  on  the  spikes  of  the 
side   chapel   railings ;    candlesticks   broken,    altar-lamps    ex- 
tinguished, and  the  altars  themselves  overthrown,  with  frag- 
ments of  glasses,  necks  of  bottles,  ham-bones,  sordid  scraps 
of  the  free-lances'  feasts ;   I  have  even  seen  statues  broken, 
the  most  precious  canvases  torn  by  the  pikes ;  and  as  to  the 
outrages,    the    insults,    the    blows    showered    on    the    most 
illustrious    cardinals,    archibishops,     dataries,    protonotaries, 
they  are  too  many  for  me  to  detail.     So  common  a  thing  is  it 
that  when,  in  the  solitude  of  the  crossways,  one  of  these  erst- 
while   reverend    Signors    passes,    hustled    by    some    jeering 
scoundrel  of  an  archer — when  there  re-echoes  the  blow  of  a 
buffet  administered  to  some  venerable  cheek,  people  do  not 
even  turn  their  heads  to  find  out  more  of  the  matter. 
THE    CROWD:    Shame!    shame!     We    have    cursed    the 

310 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

avarice  and  the  pride  of  the  Papal  dignitaries,  but  was  it 
necessary  that  so  much  greatness  and  secular  splendour  should 
be  trampled  on  by  feet  so  vile  ?  What  says  Caesar  to  these 
abominations? 

CELLINI :  Caesar,  in  his  far-off  Spanish  palace,  weeps,  they 
say,  and  laments  over  the  sorrows  of  the  successor  to  the 
Apostles  ;  he  orders  prayers  to  be  offered  up  for  the  ending  of 
so  heinous  a  scandal ;  otherwise,  he  takes  no  steps  to  set  a 
limit  to  it,  and  desires  to  see  on  his  knees  even  him  whose 
slipper  the  world  reverently  kisses.  One  man  alone,  amid  all 
this,  has  upheld  the  glor>'  of  Italy  and  gained  a  renown  that 
will  never  die. 

THE  CROWD  :  Of  whom  do  you  speak? 
CELLINI  :  It  is  I,  I  alone  who  have  avenged  Rome  before- 
hand for  what  she  is  suffering,  for  with  a  shot  from  my 
infallible  cross-bow  I  killed  the  Constable  de  Bourbon,  and  you 
know  that,  with  Michael  Angelo,  I  am  the  greatest  artist  of 
my  age.  Now  that  you  have  learnt  w'hat  my  eyes  have  seen, 
inform  me  in  your  turn  of  what  is  happening  here. 
THE  CROWD  :  Florence  is  free,  and  unless  courage  and 
virtue  are  reduced  to  mere  words  without  meaning,  we  shall 
never  go  back  to  the  old  bondage  !  Savonarola,  the  Saint,  the 
great,  the  sublime  Prate,  has  not  lived  amongst  us  in  vain! 
His  every  word  has  remained  a  living  thing!  All  his  maxims 
are  being  revived,  and  this  time  no  one  shall  be  allowed  to 
blind  us!  What  Savonarola  ordered,  we  are  about  to  carry 
out,  and  henceforth  the  work  will  not  be  undone.  We  know 
our  enemies  thoroughly ;  a  Medici  Pope  wishes  us  no  good ; 
but  what  can  he  do?  Caesar  will  turn  an  exasperated  face 
towards  us  ;  but  if  he  looks  to  the  East,  he  will  see  the  Turks 
threatening  his  Imperial  possessions ;  nearer  home  the 
Venetians  are  overrunning  the  Romagna  ;  and  if  he  turns 
towards  the  north,  he  will  perceive  the  French  returning, 
forgetful  of  their  disaster  at  Pavia  and  filled  with  a  more 
burning  ardour  than  they  have  ever  been  before.     Such  are 

311 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

our  friends,  such  arc  our  avengers,  such  are  our  mainstays! 
The  hberty  of  Florence  will  live  for  ever ! 
CELLINI:  My  children,  rely  upon  me!  To  you  I  dedicate 
my  sword  ;  the  whole  world  knows  its  worth.  Moreover,  you 
are  no  doubt  aware  of  the  eagerness  with  which  Francis  I. 
hstens  to  my  advice.  Once  more  I  say,  rely  upon  me! 
Florence  is  for  ever  her  own  mistress ;  henceforth  no  prince 
or  tyrant  shall  set  his  foot  upon  her  neck. 
THE  CROWD  :  Long  live  Florence! 


AT  THE  CORNER  OF  THE  STREET. 

Machiavelli,  his  hands  behinil  his  back,  watches  the  crowd  passing  and 
uttering  cries  of  joy. 

MACHIAVELLI :  What  a  noise !  How  they  bellow !  How 
they  sing!  What  sparkling  eyes  !  How  that  word  "  liberty  " 
intoxicates  them!  One  would  say  it  was  the  first  time  in 
their  lives  that  they  uttered  it  and  exulted  in  this  fashion! 
The  bird  lives  in  the  air,  the  fish  in  the  water,  and  the  mob 

in  noise. 

A  company  passes,  dragging  in  the  gutter  a  scutcheon  with  the  Medici 
arms,  tied  to  a  rope.  Drums,  trumpets  ;  the  crowd  sings  and 
follows  Benvenuto  CelHni,  who  waves  a  flag. 

CELLINI  (at  the  top  of  his  voice) :  Long  live  Florence! 

ALL  :  Long  live  Florence !     Death  to  the  Medici ! 

CELLINI :    Signor  Machiavelli,  you  are  a  great  citizen — a 

friend  of  Savonarola ! 

THE  CROWED  :  Long  live  Savonarola!     Long  live  Machia- 

velh!     Long  live  Cellini! 

CELLINI  :  Citizens,  you  are  magnificent!     Men  of  Florence, 

you    are    a    great    nation !  .  .  .  You    are    coming    with    us, 

Machiavelli  ?     We  will  carry  you  shoulder  high !     You  have 

suffered  in  the  tyrants'  prisons ! 

THE  CROWD  :  Yes!  yes!     Let's  carry  him'  shoulder  high! 

In  triumph! 

MACHIAVELLI:  Friends,  I  thank  you!     Indeed,  my  heart 

overflows  v.'ith  gratitude  !     But  I  am  old  ;  I  am  ill ;  I  no  longer 

312 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

feel  fit  for  anything,  and  I  beg  you  to  leave  me  in  peace !   Apart 

from  that,  long  live  Florence !     Long  live  liberty — and  the 

people — and  Signor  Cellini !...(!  wonder  if  I  have  to  cry 

"  long  life  "  to  anything  else  ?) 

CELLINI :  Come,  my  children,  let  us  set  to  our  work  with 

courage,  with  unflagging  energy !     Set  fire  to  the  tennis-court 

where  the  despots  took  their  exercise ! 

THE  CROWD  :  Yes.  let  us  burn  the  tennis-court! 

MACHIAVELLI :  An  excellent  notion!     Go  and  burn  the 

tennis-court !   Without  that,  liberty  could  never  be  established. 

Cellini  waves  his  flag  and  the  whole  crowd  moves  oS,  with  the  same 
shouts,  cries,  drumming  and  trumpeting,  and  still  dragging  the 
scutcheon  at  a  rope's  end. 

MACHIAVELLI :  It  is  far  wiser  to  contemplate  men  as  a 
passive  spectator  than  to  mingle  in  their  affairs.  I  am.  not  in 
the  least  surprised  at  the  strong  taste  that  many  have  for  con- 
spiracies, seditions  and  revolts.  Of  all  games  of  chance,  this 
is  incontestably  the  one  that  sets  the  greatest  number  of 
faculties  in  motion.  Every  moment  an  unforeseen  event !  Men 
breathe  a  boundless  hope  of  indefinable  things ;  they  talk, 
they  shout,  they  bustle,  they  think  of  nothing,  and  they  drink, 
drink,  drink  without  ceasing  in  a  cup  of  emotions  whose 
savour  is  constantly  changing!  Look  at  Benvenuto,  that 
notable  babbler,  that  braggart  without  peer!  He  has  not  a 
single  virtue  ;  but  he  is  full  of  wit ;  he  is  enjoying  himself  now 
like  a  god  ;  he  does  not  believe  a  word  of  what  he  is  bawling, 
and  cares  as  much  for  the  liberty  of  Florence  as  for  that  of 
Abyssinia ;   but  he  is  enjoying  himself,  and  that  is  the  chief 

thing. 

Enter  Michael  Angclo. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO:  You  here,  Messer  Niccolo?     I  am 

glad  indeed  to  see  you  ;   for  years  past  I  have  not  had  this 

pleasure  ;  you  look  pale  and  worn. 

MACHIAVELLI  :    Old    comrade,    I    am    like    a   shattered 

musical   instrument.     I   have  been   trodden  upon   too  often. 

Some  of  the  strings  still  give  out  notes ;  the  greater  part  are 

313 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

broken  ;  the  rest  is  out  of  tune.  I  reflect  with  pleasure  upon 
the  chance  of  my  soon  leaving  this  mortal  covering  that  fits 
me  so  badly. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :   I  understand  your  weariness.     But 
let  us  not  speak  of  such  matters  ;  we  should  agree  too  well. 
What  is  to  become  of  Italy?     Whither  is  she  going?     I  left 
Rome  so  as  not  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Imperial  vandals  ; 
I  come  to  Florence,  and  I  find  everything  upside  down,  and 
another  of  these  countless  revolutions.     The   French,  who 
cannot  defend  the  Pope  or  do  anything  useful  for  themselves 
or  for  us,  have  just  put  Pavia  to  fire  and  sword  ;  everywhere 
there  is  butchering,  butchering.  ...  I  know  that  in  our  young 
days  they  butchered  in  the  same  way.  .  .  . 
MACHIAVELLI :     With    a    great    difference:     then    life 
emerged  from  death,  whereas  now  what  emerges  from  death  is 
another  death.     Do  you  understand  ? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes  .  .  .  almost. 
MACHIAVELLI :   W^ell,  in  the  days  v»'hen  we  were  young, 
you  and  I,  the  looting,  the  massacring,  the  outrages  of  every 
kind  by  no  means  prevented  Italy,  likewise  young  herself, 
from  growing  and  acquiring  fresh  charms  with  fresh  strength. 
It  is  no  longer  the  same.     Do  you  observe  that  Italy's  history 
was  then  made  by  Italians  ?     Now  it  is  the  French  and  the 
Imperials  who  direct,  sow,  till  and  reap.     In  former  times, 
we  summoned  the  barbarians  to  our  aid ;  mistakenly,  without 
a  doubt !  but  we  looked  upon  them  as  auxiliaries  of  whom  one 
day  or  other,  after  the  overthrow  and  destruction  of  our  fellow- 
countryman  the  enemy,  we  were  sure  to  be  rid.     Thus  it  was 
that  the  Sforza,  the   Pope,  the  Venetians,  called   in   Kings 
Charles  VIII.,  Louis  XII.,  and  Ferdinand  of  Aragon  in  turn. 
The  Duke  of  Valentinois  had  no  other  thought.     Adversaries 
of  the  most  opposite  views  and  ambitions  were  in  agreement 
on  this  point,  and  this  is  all  to  their  credit.     Now,  the  Pope, 
the  Milanese,  the  Florentines,  the  men  of  Naples  are  mere 
puppets,  of  which  Francis  I.  and  Charles  V.  pull  the  strings, 

314 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

and  our  valour  is  nothing  but  an  appendage  to  the  valour  of 
these  two  great  sovereigns. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  We  have  become  provincials,  con- 
quered or  soon  to  be  conquered. 

MACHIAVELLI:  Worse  than  that.  We  are  dotards, 
exhausted  by  the  unmeasured  fury  of  every  passion  ;  rich,  to 
be  plundered ;  clever,  to  be  made  to  work ;  famous,  to  be 
robbed  of  our  glory  ;  learned,  to  have  our  knowledge  sucked 
out  and  transmitted  elsewhere.  We  are  lost  souls,  and  we 
wallow  in  something  lower  than  disgrace. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to 
me  and  Francesco  Granacci  one  day  in  the  Sistine  Chapel? 
MACHIAVELLI  :  I  was  then  arguing  from  probabilities, 
and  thought  the  Holy  See  destined  to  concentrate  all  the 
inheritances  in  its  hands.  I  uid  not  guess  what  sort  of  a  man 
Charles  V.  was,  or  even  Francis  I. ;  the  former  is  the  real 
Pope !  He  desires  neither  reform,  nor  improvement,  nor 
change.  He  thinks  to  keep  up  the  old  system,  with  its  outworn 
merits,  its  present  decrepitude ;  and,  by  trampling  underfoot 
the  incapable  Pontiff  and  the  powerless  Roman  Curia,  he  has 
resolved  to  ensure  the  triumph  of  this  weakness  and  abase- 
ment;. But,  believe  me,  Michael  Angelo,  believe  me  ;  we  shall 
doubtless  perish  beneath  his  blows,  for  he  has  a  strong  arm ; 
but  he  will  perish  even  as  we  ;  he  will  stifle  neither  heresy  nor 
the  spirit  of  revolt,  nor  their  consequences  ;  not  the  mightiest 
will  could  stem  the  torrents  on  the  downward  course  that  they 
have  already  begun. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  But,  look  you,  as  regards  Florence, 
the  state  of  affairs  does  not  justify  your  words.  Once  more 
the  Medici  have  been  dismissed,  and  the  city  reverts  to  its 
ancient  repubhcan  faith.  The  memory  of  Era  Girolamo  is 
being  re-lit  like  the  holy  lamp  that  burns  before  the 
tabernacles.  The  reformer's  teachings  are  being  invoked  ;  his 
words  are  recalled,  his  precepts  are  re-established,  and  to-day 
the  Pope  will  not  come,  like  Alexander  of  old,  to  deal  death 
to  our  tenets.     He  has  far  too  much  on  his  own  hands !    How 

315 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

is  he  to  rescue  himself?  Could  we  not  come  lo  an  under- 
standing with  the  Emperor,  and  look  to  him  for  tlie  support,  so 
free  of  risk  to  hunself,  of  that  past  which  we  are  causing  to 
live  anew  ? 

IMACHIAVELLI :  The  past  never  hves  anew.  The  Pope  is, 
indeed,  hard  pressed  by  Coesar ;  C^sar  holds  him  captive, 
star\-cs  him,  scourges  him  soundly  .  .  .  but  do  you  not  see 
why?  Because  they  both  serve  the  same  cause,  and  Caesar 
finds  his  companion  inefficient  and  idle.  When  he  has  bent 
hira  to  his  will,  he  will  wish  nothing  but  good  to  this  poor 
Pontiff  ;  the  poor  Pontiff's  cause  is  exactly  his  own !  He  would 
rather  see  in  his  place  the  iVdrian  \T.  whom  he  caused  to  be 
elected,  an  ignorant  priest,  a  fanatic  like  himself,  hungry  for 
despotism  in  all  its  forms  ;  but  he  no  longer  has  him,  and,  willy- 
nilly,  he  must  put  up  with  the  Medici.  That  is  why  he 
will  one  day  restore  here  the  kinsmen  of  Clement  VII.,  and, 
to  prevent  their  falling  again,  he  will  invest  them  with  an 
authority  that  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent  never  enjoyed  ;  and 
then,  poor,  evil,  wicked,  ignorant,  corrupt,  worthless  fools  that 
you  are,  wretched  puppets  of  liberty,  you  will  become  the 
subjects  of  a  lackey  prince,  and,  by  that  same  token,  the  most 
humiliated  of  men. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  speak  harshly,  Messer  Niccolo  ; 
you  are  yourself  one  of  the  people  whom  you  despise  so 
thoroughly. 

MACHIAVELLI :  I  shall  not  be  one.  Death  is  at  my  heels. 
Death  will  take  me  to  where  there  is  no  further  cause  to  blush. 
May  I  never  meet  a  Florentine  in  the  next  world !  Listen  to 
them  shouting,  those  wretches,  so  rich  in  voice  and  so  poor  in 
brain.  See  them  go  past!  .  .  .  Their  blood  courses  hotly 
through  their  veins,  but  not  one  of  them  has  ever  entertained 
a  serious  idea,  has  ever  sincerely  believed  in  what  he  was 
doing.  They  care  for  nothing  but  emotion  and  idle  talk. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  That  is  not  well  spoken,  Niccolo. 
You  are  ill  in  body  and  mind,  that  excuses  you  ;  but  I  am  sure 
that  for  all  that  you  love  your  country,  this  Florence,  so  un- 

316 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

happ\'  through  the  fault  of  her  children,  yet  none  the  less  a 
great  and  noble  city,  crowned  with  glory,  mother  of  many  a 
hero,  mother  of  deathless  artists,  she  whom  her  woes  to  come, 
if  you  read  the  future  rightly,  should  endear  to  you  all  the 
more. 

MACHIAVELLI :  I  hate  these  periods,  well-turned  but  void 
of  truth.  If  it  is  true  that  Florence  has  seen  heroes  issue  from 
the  womb,  she  is  a  stepmother  ;  she  has  done  all  she  could  to 
crush  them ;  when  she  could  not,  so  soon  as  their  worth  has 
been  made  patent  to  her  eyes,  she  has  harassed  them, 
despoiled  them,  banished  them.  .  .  .  Remember  Dante  and 
many  another.  .  .  .  And  I,  I  will  tell  her,  this  shameless 
wanton  :  "  Florence,  be  accursed  in  the  name  of  the  heroes  who 
have  issued  from  thy  womb,  whom  thou  hast  devoured  like  a 
wild  beast !  "  I  am  to  love  Florence  ?  I  hate  her !  And  you 
should  do  likewise,  for  more  than  once  she  has  forced  you  to 
fly  from  her  walls !  If  you  had  had  only  her  to  take  care  of 
you,  she  would  have  strangled  you  with  your  own  genius ! 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  Nevertheless  I  love  her  and  will 
ser\-e  her. 

MACHIAVELLI :  You  will  gain  no  more  than  she  does  ; 
but  it  is  also  possible  that  you  would  not  lose  much  !  You  are 
Michael  Angelo !  You  love  Florence,  it  is  a  costly  affection  ; 
Florence  is  not  necessary  to  you.  Your  place  is  in  Rome,  and 
if  Rome  continues  to  fail  you,  in  Venice,  in  Milan,  in  Paris. 
Caesar,  for  the  honour  of  his  States,  would  open  out  to  you  a 
broad  and  triumphal  path.  I  tell  you,  you  are  Michael  Angelo. 
Amuse  yourself  here  so  long  as  your  heart  bids  you ;  you  will 
squander  your  time,  and  you  would  do  better  to  busy  yourself 
with  your  masterpieces  ;  but  they  will  say :  "  How  he  loved 
his  country !  "  It  will  make  a  brave  show  in  the  pages  of  your 
biography !  For  myself,  I  am  no  artist,  whose  true  country  is 
the  whole  world  ;  I  am  not  a  scholar  who  can  find  honour  and 
livelihood  anywhere  ;  I  am  a  wretched  official  of  the  most 
wretched  of  States,  and  I  loathe  that  State,  I  loathe  Florence. 

317 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You  have  been  very  unhappy,  and 
you  have  not  been  treated  according  to  your  deserts. 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  have  a  wife  and  children ;  I  am  of  the 
oldest  blood  in  1  uscany,  as  you  well  know.    My  ancestry  goes 
far  back.  .  .  .  There  is  no  bread  in  my  house. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  True  .  .  .  true  ...  it  is  a  scandal! 
MACHIAVELLI :  I  have  learnt  much  ;  my  youth  was  buried 
in  books  ;  I  drank  in,  so  to  speak,  the  wisdom  of  antiquity  with 
my  mother's  milk,  so  eager  weis  I  to  learn.  .  .  .  What  have  I 
become.?  ...  A  poor  secretary,  and  nothing  more. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :   You  have  been  most  hardly  used. 
Master  Niccolo,  and  I  realise  the  bitterness  of  your  heart. 
MACHIAVELLI  -.  No,  you  do  not  realise  it.     So  long  as  I 
was  kept  in  the  lowest  grades,  and  saw  the  goal  of  my  most 
justifiable  hopes  recede  further  and  further,  I  felt  my  shoulder 
rubbed  at  every  moment ;  I  was  thrown  aside.  .  .  .  The  first 
scoundrel  who  came  along,  a  low  fellow,  a  pack-ass,  a  man  of 
no  talent,  no  conscience,  no  birth,  was  pushed  in  front  of  me. 
All  the   same,   I   was  overwhelmed    with  compliments ;    the 
missions  I  fulfilled  were  now  difficult,  now  dangerous  ;   I  ful- 
filled them  well,  to  no  one's  amazement ;   but  the  stream  of 
flunkeys  went  on  passing,  and  other  flunkeys  said  to  me,  "  Stay 
where  you  are !  "     I  have  stayed  there  all  my  life,  and  I  believe 
that   the   humiliation,   the   discouragement,   the    disgust,   the 
indignation  that  have  gripped  every  corner  of  my  heart  have 
affected  me  even  more  than  my  poverty. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Alas,  alas,  life  is  sombre  and  evil; 
and  when  I  remember  that  I  too  have  had  to  undergo  stupidity 
and  impudent  ignorance,  I  understand  what  you  feel. 
MACHIAVELLI  :   No,  you  do  not  understand.     When  Fra 
Girolamo  Savonarola  came  to  preach  his  doctrines,  I  was  a 
young  man  ;  I  loved  my  fellow-creatures  ;  I  loved  my  country  ; 
I  loved  Italy ;    I  believed  in  the  possibility  of  reason  and 
virtue.     I  exhausted  all  my  strength  so  as  to  build  them  a 
house.     What  has  been  the  result  of  my  hopes  ?     Let  us  not 
speak  of  it.     As,  however,  I  had  still  a  litUe  of  credulity 

318 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

left,  I  fancied  that  an  able  man  like  the  Duke  of  Valen- 
tinois  could  create  a  noble  kingdom,  endow  it  with  wise  laws 
and  good  ordinances,  send  the  foreigners  back  to  their  homes 
— in  short,  that  there  was  still  something  to  be  desired.  The 
Duke  of  Valentinois  failed.  To-day,  it  is  the  fashion  to  regard 
him  as  the  most  frightful  of  monsters,  although,  so  far  as  indi- 
vidual or  general  cruelties  axe  concerned,  he  never  dreamed  of 
a  tithe  of  the  useless  brutalities  carried  out  by  Charles  V., 
among  others  the  sack  of  Rome  and  the  re-establishment  of 
the  Inquisition.  But  the  minds  of  men  are  so  constituted  that 
they  need  a  number  of  scapegoats  to  bear  the  burden  of  the 
crimes  of  a  period ;  naturally,  they  do  not  choose  the  wolves, 
who  are  doing  most  harm.  They  take  those  who  can  defend 
themselves  least,  those  whom  the  dogs  have  already  rent  or 
throttled,  because,  above  all,  they  are  cowards  themselves. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO:  You  are  too  bitter;  it  is  true  that 
your  heart  is  full  of  tears. 

MACHIAVELLI:  I  have  no  more  tears  to  shed.  On 
the  contrary,  I  am  delighted  to  see  how  this  world  of 
scoundrels,  of  madmen,  of  fools,  of  egoists,  who  have  kept  me 
in  the  rank  of  a  starveling  subaltern,  has  done  so  well  for  itself 
that  the  most  ignoble  bondage  will  soon  be  no  more  on  its 
body  than  the  rag  that  covers  the  most  hopeless  poverty! 
Glory  be  to  God,  I  say!  they  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  I. 
I  am  dying,  and  the  Italian  world  will  live,  but  utterly  dis- 
credited. You  are  all  great  men,  I  mean  you  and  your 
friends ;  but  when  you  have  disappeared,  as  you  soon  will, 
there  will  remain  only  your  imitators,  who  will  imitate  you 
badly ;  and  then  will  come  the  apes,  who  will  transform  your 
heavenward  flights  into  ludicrous  gambols  ;  then  it  will  be  all 
ov^r  with  your  work.  .  .  .  Let  us  go  back  home. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes,  let  us  go  indoors.  I  will  give 
you  my  arm  and  take  you  back  to  your  house.  Among  the 
great  men  of  whom  you  speak,  you  have  your  place,  Niccolo. 
MACHIAVELLI:  Not  so!  I  am  only  a  huckster  of  ideas, 
and  events  prove  that  I  have  been  but  a  dreamer.     There  is  a 

2  B  319 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

great  distance  between  seeing  and  creating  the  truth.  From 
ughness  itself  }'0u  make  immortal  beauty,  as  it  is  granted  you 
to  mould  enchanting  forms  from  the  vilest  clay;  your  world 
may  perish,  you  remain  a  god  and  you  live.  But  I  ?  I  have 
understood  what  they  should  try  to  produce ;  I  have  shown 
what  is  desirable.  Have  they  carried  out  my  plans?  No! 
What  is  left  of  me  ?  A  poor  devil  bent  double,  who  is  going 
to  vanish,  and  there's  an  end  of  it !  So  much  the  better !  Let 
us  go  back  home. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes.  For  my  part,  I  confess  to  you 
that,  with  or  without  hope,  I  will  serve  my  country ;  I  will  use 
all  my  knowledge  to  defend  it,  and  if  it  must  succumb,  I  shall 
at  least  have  fulfilled  a  duty,  or  what  seems  to  me  one. 
MACHIAVELLI :  Do  not  shrink  even  from'  giving  your 
blood ;  what  you  will  achieve  on  this  occasion,  as  on  others, 
will  be  amply  repaid  you  by  posterity.  Posterity  will  say : 
"That  great  artist,  Michael  Angelo,  had  no  need  of  Florence, 
and  yet  he  sacrificed  this  and  that  for  her!"  .  .  .  Come!  your 
crowns  are  ready ;  but  I,  if  I  were  a  fool  and  wished  to  concern 
myself  with  what  is  being  done,  I  should  be  used  to  brush  the 
clothes  of  the  high  and  mighty  personages  whom  every  revo- 
lution draws  up  from'  its  slime,  and  in  the  day  of  defeat  they 
would  say  to  me :  "  Old  fool,  how  was  it  that  you  did  not  know 
your  associates  better .''"  They  would  be  right.  Good-bye, 
Michael  Angelo,  I  hope  never  to  see  you  again  in  this  world. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  (pressing  his  hand) :  Good-bye  ! 

Machiavelli  enters  his  house  and  shuts  the  door. 
Poor  Niccolo  sees  only  too  clearly.  It  matters  little ;  I  have 
not  my  wings  tied,  it  is  true  ;  I  can  go  where  I  please.  Fortune, 
with  all  her  other  cruelties  towards  me,  has  at  least  not  sub- 
jected me  to  any  man's  will.  I  will  defend  Florence,  and  if 
Florence  is  wrong,  I  shall  yet  have  satisfied  an  instinct  of  my 
heart. 


320 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 


PARMA. 


The  Franciscan  convent. — The  cupola  of  the  church  ;  the  father  superior  ; 
monks,  churchwarden  of  the  Cathedral ;  Correggio. 

FATHER  SUPERIOR:   I  have  something  to  say  to  you, 

Allegri.     You  will  not  be  angry,  I  hope  ;  I  only  mean  to  speak 

to  you  like  a  father,  and  with  the  best  intentions. 

CORREGGIO:  Be  assured  of  my  respect,  reverend  Father; 

I  know  that  I  am  open  to  be  blamed  on  many  points. 

THE   CHURCHWARDEN:    I  will  speak^o  him,  all  the 

more  because  my  knowledge  of  painting  is  profound,  and  I 

can  hardly  be  imposed  upon  so  far  as  that  goes. 

FATHER  SUPERIOR :   You  are  a  man  of  judgment,  of 

sound  judgment. 

CHURCHWARDEN  :  Yes,  especially  in  painting ;  so  I  will 

tell  you,  Messer  .  .  .  What  is  your  name  ? 

CORREGGIO  :  Antonio  Allegri ;  and  as  I  am  a  native  of  the 

village  of  Correggio,  some  miles  from  here,  and  live  there,  I 

am  generally  given  the  name  of  my  place  of  residence. 

CHURCHWARDEN:     You     must     know     then,     Messer 

Correggio,  that  you  are  no  painter.     I  need  no  further  proof 

than  that  medley  of  colours  with  which  you  have  thought  fit 

to  adorn  the  church  cupola. 

CORREGGIO  :  I  would  drav/  your  attention,  ]\Iesser  .... 

CHURCHWARDEN  :    I  am  a  judge  of  painting,  and  you 

may  give  up  all  hope  of  hoodwinking  me !     In  )'our  painting 

there  are  arms  too  short,  legs  too  long,  and  noses  of  which  the 

less  said  the  better.     As  to  the  colour.  .  .  . 

PRIOR  :    Listen  attentively,  Allegri ;  you  have  to  deal  with 

a  man  well-versed  in  his  subject. 

CORREGGIO  :  I  am  listening  attentively,  reverend  Father. 

CHURCHWARDEN  :  As  to  the  colour,  one  would  say  that 

you  have  intended  to  serve  us  up  a  dish  of  frogs. 

The  monks  burst  out  laughing  ;  Correggio  reddens. 
PRIOR  :  I  hope,  in  any  case,  that  his  feelings  of  piety  would 
not  have  allowed  him  to  entertain  such  an  idea. 

2  B  2  321 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

CORREGGIO:  Allow  mc  to  withdraw. 
CHURCHWARDEN  :  Arc  you  displeased  at  my  frankness? 
CORREGGIO:   Since,  accordin^^  to  you,  Messer,  I   am  no 
painter,  it  is  better  for  me  not  to  go  on  with  my  work,  and 
accordingly  I  give  it  up. 

PRIOR  :  You  are  not  going  on  with  your  work? 
CORREGGIO:   No,  reverend  Father;    you  can  give  it  to 
whom  )'ou  please. 

PRIOR:   An  unheard-of  proceeding! 

CHURCHWARDEN  :  Do  you  know  that  you  could  be  com- 
pelled by  a  court  of  law  to  withdraw  your  unseemly  threats  ? 
CORREGGIO :  You  may  tell  the  law  what  you  please,  but 
it  has  no  power  to  put  the  brush  between  my  fingers. 
THE  PRIOR  and  THE  MONKS  (all  together) :  Then  you 
will  not  be  paid ! 

CORREGGIO :  God  is  my  witness  that  I  need  money,  for  my 
house  is  quite  bare  ;  never  mind !  I  would  rather  lose  every- 
thing and  take  my  leave.  I  will  only  remind  you  that  you 
owe  me  the  price  of  my  Christ  in  the  garden  of  the  Mount  of 
Olives. 

CHURCHWARDEN  :  My  opinion,  reverend  Father,  is  that 
you  should  at  once  satisfy  this  grasping  man,  whose  love  of 
gain  shows  that  he  is  no  artist. 

PRIOR :  Messer  Allegri,  this  scene  affects  me  in  the  highest 
degree.     I  should  never,  never  have  supposed  you  so  proud 
and  so  wanting  in  honour.     We  will  give  you  four  crowns  for 
your  picture,  to  avoid  further  discussion, 
CHURCHWARDEN  :  It  is  an  ample  remuneration. 
CORREGGIO  :  Give  me  the  four  crowns  and  let  me  go. 
PRIOR :  Brother  Honorio,  take  him  with  you,  and  pay  him 
the  sum  he  demands — in  copper  coins,  of  course.     I  am  pained, 
my  son,  deeply  pained,  and,  to  say  truth,  my  soul  is  utterly 
lacerated  by  your  course  of  action. 

322 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

CORREGGIO  :  Fathers  and  you,  Messer,  I  salute  you,  and  am 
sorry  that  my  painting  does  not  satisfy  you. 

Exit  with  Brother  Honorio. 
THE  CHURCHWARDEN  :  You  must  not  be  astonished  at 
this  scandal,  reverend  Fathers.  These  men  of  talent  are 
violent,  ill-tempered,  mad  fellows,  most  disagreeable  to 
have  to  deal  with.  Under  the  pretext  that  they  are  superior 
to  others,  they  ride  the  high  horse ;  it  is  unbearable !  And 
if  one  only  lets  them  hear  unpalatable  truths,  you  see  what 
results. 

PRIOR :  Indeed,  I  have  always  thought  that  the  most 
ordinary  men  were  in  many  ways  preferable  to.  .  .  . 
CHURCHWARDEN  :  Extraordinary  men.  ...  I  think  so, 
too.  In  every  respect  the  artists  are  far  too  much  favoured. 
We  shall  have  no  trouble  in  finding  some  worthy  lad,  modest 
and  respectable,  to  finish  the  church  paintings — one  who  can 
be  treated  with  less  ceremony.  I  take  the  task  upon  myself, 
and  promise  that  your  cupola  will  be  only  the  more  admirable 
for  being  carried  out  according  to  my  ideas ;  for  although  I 
do  not  paint,  it  is  true,  I  am  a  perfect  judge  of  this  sort  of 
wares. 


323 


THE    RENAISSANCE 


BOLOGNA. 


A   street. — Citizens   and   artisans,   gloomy   and   whispering,   gathered   in 
front  of  a  house. — Two  travellers  on  horseback  pass. 

FIRST  TRAVELLER:  What  means  this  crowd?  Why 
these  troubled  looks  ?     What's  afoot  ? 

SECOND  TRAVELLER :  An  accident,  I  expect.  Gentle- 
men, let  us  pass,  if  you  please. 

FIRST  TRAVELLER :  There  is  a  woman  in  tears.  Let 
us  ask  the  cause. 

SECOND  TRAVELLER  :  My  curiosity  is  aroused  as  much 
as  yours.  That  master  joiner  looks  an  honest  man.  Speak 
to  him! 

FIRST  TRAVELLER  (stopping  his  horse  and  leaning  over 
his  neck) :   Pardon,  Messer ! 

JOINER  (in  the  midst  of  a  group) :  What  is  your  pleasure, 
Messer  ? 

FIRST  TRAVELLER  :  Could  you  inform  us,  if  the  ques- 
tion is  permitted,  of  the  cause  of  this  gathering,  and  why  so 
many  are  mourning  ? 

JOINER :  You  know,  no  doubt,  the  name  of  Properzia  de' 
Rossi  ? 

FIRST  TRAVELLER  :  Do  you  mean  that  admirable  young 
girl  who  has  executed  so  many  fine  statues,  among  others 
the  two  marble  angels  that  are  the  glory  of  the  Cathedral  of 
San  Petronio? 

JOINER:  The  very  same!  Her  renown  fills  all  Italy. 
Properzia  is  dying. 

SECOND  TRAVELLER:  My  God,  what  are  you  saying! 
So  young! 

FIRST  TRAVELLER :  We  are  Lombards,  and  we  realise 
the  just  grief  of  the  Bolognese. 

SECOND  TRAVELLER  :  My  God!  of  what  is  a  woman  so 
beautiful,  so  accomplished,  going  to  die  ?  She  who  is  so 
brilliant,  so  admired,  so  happy ! 

324 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

A  WOMAN  (striking  her  forehead  violently  with  both  hands)  : 
So  happy!  So  happy!  It  is  just  because  she  is  not  happy 
that  she  is  going  to  die !  The  man  whom  she  loved  is 
deserting  her. 


IN    PROPERZIA'S    HOUSE. 

A  vast  room. — The  curtains  lowered  in  front  of  the  windows.  It  is  dark. — 
Properzia  is  Ij-ing  on  a  bed  half  veiled  by  the  darkness  that  fills  the 
apartment  ;  she  is  verj'  pale  ;  her  black  hair  floods  the  pillow  ;  her 
arms  are  outside  the  bed  and  stretched  on  the  coverlets ;  the 
draperies,  of  white  and  green  damask,  are  turned  and  knotted  about 
the  columns.  On  a  table,  phials  of  drugs,  a  ewer  of  silver,  a  gilded 
basin,  hnen  wet  with  blood. — Properzia's  father,  mother,  and  husband. 
A  physician. 

HUSBAND  :  Speak  to  me,  dearest!  .  .  .  You  are  in  pain? 

FATHER  :  What !  You  will  not  say  a  word  ?  .  .  .  Look,  look 

at  your  unhappy  mother.  .  .  .  She  is  here,  do  you  see  ?    The 

sorrow  will  kill  her.  .  .  .  You  know  that  well,  do  you  not  ? 

HUSBAND  (to  physician) :  Come  ...  to  this  window-seat. 

...  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  .  .  .  Come  here  ...  let 

us  speak  low   .  .  .  Let  no  one  hear  us.  .  .  .  Confess  to  me  the 

real  truth.     I  am  a  man  ...  I  can  hear  all.  .  .  .  You  know 

that  I  am  courageous  .  .  .  yes,  very  courageous ! 

Sobs. 

PHYSICIAN :     Come,   come,   be   calm,    Messer   Luigi,    my 

friend ! 

HUSBAND:  Yes,  your  friend!  .  .  .  Indeed,  I  have  need  of 

friends!     Speak  to  me  as  you  should.  .  .  .  How  many,  yes, 

how  many  days  will  it  be  before  I  see  her  recovered ;  yes,  her, 

there.  .  .  .  Properzia  .  .  .  my     Properzia!     You     know     of 

whom  I  speak !   .  .  . 

PHYSICIAN  :   Alas,  my  poor  Messer  Luigi.  ...  I  warned 

you.  ...  I  have  done  all  I  could.  .  .  .  You  know  that  Fra 

Bento  has  been  advised,  and  I  hear  him  on  the  stair,  bringing 

the  holy  viaticum. 

HUSBAND  :  But  you  do  not  mean  by  that,  that  .  .  .    ? 

325 


THE    RENAISSx\NCE 

PHYSICIAN:  Messer  Luigi,  my  poor  friend!  .  .  .  bid  your 
wife  farewell. 

The  husband  returns  to  the  bedside. 

PROPERZIA  (in  a  very  weak  voice)  :  Why  don't  I  die  ? 

FATHER :  I  cannot  hear  what  you  say,  dear  child.  .  .  .  Do 

you  feel  better  ?  .  .  . 

PROPERZIA  (indifTerently) :   Yes. 

HUSBAND  (bending  over  her) :    I  ask  but  one  thing  .  .  . 

that  vou  will  not  leave  me.  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  me  ? 

PROPERZIA:  Y^es. 

HUSBAND  :  Y^ou  will  let  me  love  you.  .  .  .  You  need  not 

love  me,  if  you  do  not  wish. 

Properzia  looks  at  him,  at  her  parents  and  the  room,  and  half  turns 
towards  the  wall. 

Enter  Fra  Bento.     He  sits  at  the  head  of  the  bed. 

FRA  BENTO  :    Properzia,  I  was  present  at  your  birth.     I 

have  a  most  tender  love  for  you.  .  .  .  Y^ou  remember? 

PROPERZIA:  No. 

FRA  BENTO  (to  the  others) :  Withdraw,  I  beg  you ;   keep 

to  the  other  end  of  the  room.     I   must  be   alone  with  my 

penitent. 

PHYSICIAN  :  Be  quick,  Fra  Bento,  she  is  near  her  end. 

FRA  BENTO  :    I^Jy  daughter,  my  dear  daughter  ...  my 

glorious   daughter!     You  have  suffered  much.  .  .  .  Tell  me 

that  you  repent  ...  all  will  be  pardoned  you !     Speak  now, 

speak,  in  the  name  of  your  eternal  salvation.  ...  I  implore 

you!     Ah!     Holy  Virgin!     She  will  not  have  time  .  .  .  her 

eyes  are  growing  dim ! 

Properzia  moves,   and  her  outstretched  hands  seem  to  search  for 
something. 

My  Properzia,  my  child,  you  repent,  do  you  not?  .  .  .  you 

repent? 

PROPERZIA:  I  don't  know! 

She  dies, 


326 


MICHAEL   ANGELO 


VENICE. 


Titian's  workshop. — Pictures  finished  or  sketched.  Titian,  old,  with  long 
white  beard,  a  cap  of  black  velvet  on  his  head,  a  robe  of  red  taffeta, 
a  knight's  golden  chain  on  his  neck  ;  he  is  seated  in  an  arm-chair  ;  by 
his  side,  Aretino,  whose  face  is  full  of  fire,  lively,  intellectual,  noble  ; 
great  hveUness  of  gesture. 

ARETINO  :  My  friend,  I  mentioned  you  in  my  last  letter 
to  Cassar.  A  month  ago,  I  praised  you  loudly  in  my  verses 
addressed  to  the  Pope  (which,  by  the  way,  have  not  received 
sufficient  payment,  so  that  I  shall  praise  you  still  more  loudly 
in  those  I  am  about  to  send  to  the  King  of  England,  for  this 
always  annoys  Paul  III.,  just  as  Clement  VII.  was  always 
angry  whenever  I  published  some  panegjaic  of  that  heretical 
monarch).  ...  But  why  does  the  Roman  court  haggle  with 
me  ?  ...  In  short,  you  will  oblige  me  by  giving  me  a  score 
of  golden  crowns. 

TITIAN :  This  is  a  marvellous  trade  that  you  have  invented, 
Messer  Aretino.  With  three  leaves  of  paper  on  which  you 
fling  in  your  style  a  few  gross  flatteries,  supported  by  half-a- 
dozen  falsehoods,  addressed  to  anyone  you  please,  you  earn 
more  money  than  any  poet,  scholar  or  doctor  has  ever  been 
able  to  scrape  together  in  thirty  years  of  toil  and  vigil. 
ARETINO  :  Do  you  know  why .? 
TITIAN  :  Because  men  love  praise. 

ARETINO  :  And  dread  insult.  I  can  scratch  as  well  as 
caress,  and,  in  my  flying  leaflets  that  are  greedily  collected 
all  over  Europe,  no  one  cares  to  see  his  name  smirched  in  the 
midet  of  a  crowd  of  petty  slanders  whose  truth  matters  little 
to  me.  He  who  pa)-s,  is  praised ;  he  who  does  not  pay  is 
roundly  torn  in  pieces,  and  my  readers  believe  equally  what- 
ever I  print.  But  what  will  you  give  me  for  my  last  letters  ? 
TITIAN  :  Ten  golden  crowns. 

ARETINO  :  You  will  give  me  twenty,  my  friend,  and  without 
frowning  into  the  bargain.     The  deuce  and  all!     It  seems  to 
me  that  I  am  worth  a  good  many  fme  orders  to  you,  a  good 
many  portraits !     My  charge  is  not  high. 
TITIAN  :  So  be  it !     But  you  will  do  me  the  favour  of  saying 

32; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

also,  here  aiid  there,  that  all  those  rascals  who  paint  to-day  in 
Venice  are  not  worth  all  tliat  fools  declare. 
ARETINO  :  I  suppose  that  the  names  of  Veronese,  Tintoretto 
and  Bassano  are  to  be  mentioned,  and  garnished  with  epitliets 
little  to  their  liking? 

TITIAN  :  Assuredly !  They  are  men  who  issued  from  my 
workshop.  They  have  treated  me  most  dishonestly,  and  I  am 
very  vexed  to  see  them  sell  their  productions  to  the  detriment 
of  mine,  simply  because  they  have  robbed  me  of  certain  secrets 
which  I  had  no  intention  of  communicating  to  tliem.  Yet  it  is 
not  these  know-nothings  who  are  most  in  question. 
ARETINO  :  I  will  not<:onceal  from  you  my  opinion  that  these 
know-nothings  do  some  rather  fine  things  ;  all  the  same,  I  will 
say  all  the  evil  of  them  tliat  you  wish,  as  well  as  of  that  other 
whose  name  I  have  yet  to  leam. 

TITIAN  :  The  other  is  Paris  Bordone.  I  have  been  posi- 
tively insulted  by  that  vagabond. 
ARETINO  :  Insulted?  How  do  you  mean? 
TITIAN  :  How  do  I  mean  ?  You  astound  me !  Did  he  not, 
this  good-for-nothing,  this  beggar,  obtain  by  intrigues  the 
order  to  paint  the  chapel  of  San  Nicola  of  the  Minor  Brethren  ? 
Do  you  think  I  will  endure  such  insolence?  A  miserable 
v.'orkman  who  is  not  yet  eighteen,  is  to  have  a  chapel  given 
him,  while  I,  an  old  man,  one  who — I  venture  to  say — is  at 
the  pinnacle  of  his  art,  am  here  ?  I  wish  to  paint  the  chapel, 
and  I  don't  intend  that  anyone,  at  Venice,  shall  poach  on  my 
preserves. 

ARETINO  :  Still,  the  other  artists  must  have  some  chances  of 
producing  and  of  earning  their  bread.  I  consider  you 
unreasonable,  Messer  Titian.  Paris  Bordone  is  young,  it  is 
true,  very  young;  you  are  the  first  painter  of  the  world,  no 
one  disputes  it ;  but  when  I  observe  that,  thanks  to  God,  to 
your  talent,  and  a  little  to  my  recommendations  and  eulogies, 
you  are  by  far  the  richest  artist  in  Italy,  making  and  re-making 
the  portraits  of  every  potentate  and  having  a  finger  in  every 

328 


TIZIANO     VECELLIO    (TITIAN) 


To  /arc  fiiige  338 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

euLerprise,  I  find  you  rather  hard  in  not  wishing  other  painters 
to  try  their  prowess  by  the  side  of  yours. 
TITIAN  :  These  are  mere  words.  If  I  did  not  take  care  of 
myself,  these  shameless  intriguers,  who  come  every  minute 
with  their  bad  brushes  and  try  to  win  themselves  a  place  in 
the  sun,  would  soon  make  me  forgotten,  and  then  I  should  die 
of  hunger.  Let  us  leave  this  subject,  it  wearies  me ;  know 
that,  so  long  as  I  live,  I  shall  not  brook,  if  I  can  help  it,  any 
competitor,  any  rival.  Will  you  help  me,  yes  or  no  ? 
ARETINO  :  Admit  that  you  are  a  terrible  man,  and  really 
without  pity.  What  vexations  you  caused  Giorgione!  He 
died  of  them !  During  your  life,  happily  a  very  long  one,  you 
have  done  many  masterpieces,  but  no  fewer  bad  turns  to  your 
adversaries.  And  who  are  your  adversaries  ?  You  have 
just  said — all  who  hold  a  brush  in  Venice. 
TITIAN  :  I  will  give  you  two  drawings  in  red  chalk ;  they 
are  there,  in  that  portfolio,  and  each  is  worth  at  least  forty 
crowns  of  gold.  I  will  give  }-ou  them,  as  I  say,  but  you  will 
serve  my  good  pleasure  in  this  matter  of  Paris  Bordone. 
I  wish  him  to  be  removed  from  the  chapel  of  the  Minor 
Brethren. 

ARETINO  :  You  will  give  me  these  two  drawings? 
TITIAN  :  I  will — and  I  consider  this  a  handsome  present. 
ARETINO  :  After  all,  it's  of  small  moment  to  me  whether  this 
Bordone  makes  his  way  or  not.     It  is  not  my  business.     I  shall 
write  against  him,  and,  what  is  more,  I  shall  speak  to  the 
Procurators. 

TITIAN  :    So  that  is  settled.     Set  to  work  at  once.     For  my 
part,  I  shall  address  myself  to  the  doge,  and  if  I  can  have  this 
upstart  banished,  it  will  be  an  excellent  piece  of  work. 
ARETINO  :  What  I  like  in  you  is  that  at  your  age  you  are 
as  determined,  as  impetuous  as  a  youngster.     You  are  a  diffi- 
cult man  to  cross,  and  I   have  already  thought  of  writing 
you  a  parallel  life  in  the  manner  of  Plutarch. 
TITIAN  :  With  whom  would  you  compare  me,  pray? 
ARETINO  :  With  Michael  Angelo. 

329 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

TITIAN  :  A  good  idea ;  it  ought  to  be  set  down  in  writing, 
in  verse  or  prose,  and  transmitted  all  over  Europe ;  not  only 
will  my  fame  increase,  but  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  sell  more 
pictures. 

ARETINO  :  I  do  not  know  that  my  proposal  is  altogether  to 
your  advantage.     The  older  you  grow,  the  more  high-handed 
and  acrimonious  you  become.     You  are  not  easy  of  access,  my 
friend  ;  to  tell  you  the  truth  is  the  boldest  stroke  I  can  venture 
on,  I  of  whom  everyone,  including  yourself,  walks  in  dread. 
Michael  Angelo,  on  the  other  hand,  who  a  few  years  ago  had 
the   gloomiest   of    dispositions    and   the   most   rebellious    of 
tempers,  grows  gentler  every  day,  and  as  he  advances  in  years 
turns  almost    to  saintliness.     Another  point  strikes  me.     I 
know  Michael  Angelo  well,  but  I  also  knew  Raphael.     I  knew 
II  Bramante,  II  Sansovino,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  and  I  have  heard 
tell  much  of  the  life  and  actions  of  the  great  Lionardo.     All 
these  men  had,  and  those  of  them  who  are  yet  alive  still  have, 
an    imagination    enlightened    by    principles    that    are    truly 
sublime.     They  are  admirable  painters,  but  also  philosophers  : 
they  love  to  reflect  upon  the  most  abstract  questions,  and  speak 
of  Beauty  like  lovers  happy  enough  to  have  gazed  upon  her 
unveiled  form  in  the  bosom  of  the  clear  azure  of  the  heavens. 
As  for  you,  I  have  never  seen  you  in  an  ecstasy  of  any  sort. 
You  are,  indeed,  the  most  admirable  painter  the  world  has  ever 
produced,  and  Michael  Angelo  does  not  refuse  you  a  place  by 
his  side,  save  that  he  ascribes  to  you  certain  defects  in  drawing. 
But  you  are  a  painter  v/ho,  with  the  power  of  possessing  all  the 
most  excellent  things  that  true  and  living  Nature  contains, 
seem  never  to  have  thought  of  anything  above  her,  and  have 
never  let  your  mind  soar  to  the  quest  of  an  ideal. 
TITIAN :  I  have  taken  good  care  not  to  do  so.     I  honour, 
as   I     ought,   the   merit   of  the    great   artists    whose   names 
you    have    just    mentioned.      They    have    achieved    admir- 
able   things ;    they    would    have    done    still    more    if    they 
had    not    lost    a    considerable    part    of    their    time    in    idle 
dreams.     A  painter  should  paint,  and  not  hold  forth  like  a 

330 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

professor  in  his  chair.  He  should  paint  torsos,  arms,  and 
legs,  give  the  necessary  vividness  to  the  faces  he  portrays, 
suggest  the  colour  of  a  bright  sunbeam,  surround  it  cunningly 
with  the  warm  shadows  that  make  it  stand  out ;  to  arrive  at 
the  happiest  results,  he  has  no  need  to  know  what  Ariosto 
said,  but  only  to  represent  a  model  whom  he  will  pay  with  a 
few  pieces  of  copper ;  and  he  requires  a  studio  with  suitable 
light. 

ARETINO  :  Raphael  preferred  to  find  in  himself  the  types 
of  his  Madonnas  ;  his  mind,  subtilised  by  reflection  and  replete 
with  marvellous  images,  lines  and  reliefs,  among  which  he 
made  his  choice,  seemed  to  him  the  best  guide. 
TITIAN  :  /  prefer  to  find  my  Madonnas  in  the  street  and 
make  them  breathe  upon  the  canvas,  to  which  I  transfer  their 
portraits,  in  all  the  glory  of  real  life.  I  make  the  creatures  of 
God  live  twice  over,  for  I  set  them  down  as  they  are,  v/ith  their 
movements  and  their  reality,  in  the  world  of  colour  and  in  the 
light  with  which  the  real  sun  animates  them  ;  I  portray  them  as 
I  see  them — that  is  where  my  triumph  lies,  in  seeing  them,  in 
portraying  them — there  is  no  better  method. 
ARETINO :  Pardon  me.  You  are  slightly  in  error.  I 
admire  you,  certainly,  Messer  Titian,  as  you  deserve  to  be 
admired  ;  yet  I  am  not  inclined  to  refuse  the  artists  of  Florence 
and  of  Rome  the  respect  which  is  no  less  rightfully  theirs. 
You  know  yourself  that  they  accuse  you,  and  Michael  Angelo 
is  their  spokesman !  They  accuse  you  of  not  having  studied 
enough  in  your  youth  before  beginning  to  paint,  and  hence, 
they  say,  the  lack  of  firmness  in  drawing  which  mars  the  work 
of  your  genius. 

TITIAN  :  I  make  light  of  this  ridiculous  slander ;  I  draw  as 
well  as  Nature  herself. 
ARETINO  :    That  is  just  what  the  Masters   reproach  you 

I  with  ;  you  draw  as  well  as  Nature  herself,  and  no  better. 
Nature  indicates  completely  what  must  be  done  to  express 
beauty.     She  does  not  always  give  it  herself;   she  is  full  of 

i approximations ;     she    abounds    in     unfinished    ideas;     licr 

331 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

creations  are  defective  in  some  point  or  other ;  if  only  because 
of  the  touch  of  vulgarity  which  she  lends  to  everything,  she  is 
not  to  be  copied  in  what  she  produces,  but  only  to  be  heard  in 
what  she  advises.  That  is  why  the  painters  of  Florence  and 
Rome  are  great ;  they  always  keep  before  them  the  ideal  which 
Nature  suggests,  and  not  the  reality  which  she  supplies. 
TITIAN  :  Rest  assured  that  1  understand  your  precepts,  Messcr 
Piero.  I  have  examined  them  myself  and  considered  them  in 
many  senses.  But  do  you  know  that  it  is  a  dangerous  aspira- 
tion to  seek  to  leave  the  hand  of  the  only  guide  on  whom  the 
artist  can  rely,  in  order  to  hunt  in  the  realms  of  the  imagina- 
tion for  paths  where  this  guide  is  no  longer  with  you?  I 
admire  Raphael,  I  admire  Michael  Angelo,  but  it  is  easy  to  go 
astray  in  listening  to  a  demand  to  do  as  they  do.  Look  at 
their  pupils!  These  self-styled  worshippers  of  the  ideal 
begin  even  now  to  grope  in  the  dark,  and  their  works  already 
show  the  results  of  their  inexperience.  In  trying  to  create 
better  than  Nature,  above  Nature,  they  give  us  abortions  and 
distorted  beings  that  lack  the  breath  of  life.  Remember  that 
this  evil  will  go  on  increasing ;  for  my  part,  I  consider  that  it 
is  impossible  to  be  mistaken  in  doing  as  I  do,  and  I  am  not 
disposed  to  let  myself  be  led  from  my  track.  The  greatest 
portrait  painter  the  world  has  ever  known,  is  myself!  My 
successors  will  only  have  to  walk  in  my  footsteps  in  order  to 
earn  praise. 

ARETINO  :  I  did  not  say  that  you  were  not  worthy  of 
admiration. 

TITIAN :  You  imply  that  I  am  inferior.  You  are  wrong.  I 
yield  to  no  man,  and  it  is  most  justly  that  Caesar,  and  with  him 
all  the  kings  of  the  earth,  all  the  great  lords,  cover  my  canvases 
with  well-earned  gold.  At  bottom,  Messer  Piero,  the  real 
standard  of  merit  for  paintings  is  whether  they  sell,  and  at 
what  price.  That  is  more  or  less  the  fashion  of  our  time,  and 
it  is  a  good  fashion.  In  my  youth,  they  attended  little  to  this 
point,  and  above  all  your  favourite  artists  claimed  to  be  dis- 
interested.    Their  pupils  and    successors  are   cured   of  this 

332 


:4 


PIETRO   ARETINO 


To  lact  page  332 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

madness.  They  hold  fast  to  the  ducats,  and  work  for  ducats, 
as  you  and  I  do,  and  I  approve  of  them. 
ARETINO  :  Ducats  are  good  and  beautiful ;  when  assembled 
in  goodly  number  in  a  purse,  they  give  forth  the  sweetest  music 
that  can  soothe  the  ear.  But  it  is  pleasing  to  argue  about 
principles.  In  short,  there  are  more  people  in  the  world  to 
appreciate  your  method  than  to  adopt  that  of  your  rivals. 
TITIAN :  Glory  makes  a  noise  only  by  the  number  of 
acclamations. 

ARETINO  :  Michael  Angelo  would  not  be  of  your  opinion. 
TITIAN  :  Well,  ]\Iichael  Angelo  is  a  gloomy  person  who  has 
never  known  the  softnesses  of  life.  .  .  .  Let  us  leave  this  matter. 
.  .  .  Do  not  fail  to  keep  your  word  as  to  chastising  the  inso- 
lence of  Paris  Bordone  and  my  other  enemies. 
ARETINO  :  I  will  set  to  work  at  once.  Pass  me  that  sheet 
of  paper ;  by  the  few  scrawls  with  which  I  shall  cover  it  I  give 
success  or  ruin,  fame  or  disgrace,  life  or  death,  just  as  I  please  ; 
I  do  not  even  need  talent ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  truth ; 
all  I  require  is  the  donkey's  ears  of  human  silliness.  You  see 
this  sheet  of  paper  ?     It  will  soon  be  worth  two  soldi,  printed ! 


333 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

BRUSSELS. 
1555. 

The  Palace. — The  Emperor's  study  ;  Charles  V.  ;  the  heir  apparent  Don 
Philip,  Iving  of  England  and  Naples,  standing  before  his  father  ;  the 
latter  seated  in  an  arm-chair  of  black  leather. 

CHARLES  v.:  For  wliat  I  have  to  say  to  you,  Infante  Don 
Philip,  be  seated,  and  put  on  your  hat. 

The  heir  apparent  obeys. 
Certain  ideas,  which  I  have  been  revolving  for  about  a  year 
past,  have  come  to  maturity,  and  it  is  time  to  communicate 
them  to  you.  I  intend  to  abdicate  the  power  entrusted  to  my 
hands  by  Heaven,  and  to  transfer  my  sovereignties  to  you. 
DON  PHILIP :  Doubtless  your  Majesty  has  sufficient 
reasons  for  so  important  a  resolve. 

CHARLES  V. :  I  am  ill,  w^eak  ;  I  am  weary.  When  I  con- 
sider the  way  in  which  so  many  monarchs  reign  or  have 
reigned,  I  find  the  task  that  has  been  set  me  a  hard  one. 
Besides,  facts  speak  for  themselves.  In  order  to  give  you  some 
idea  of  what  my  life  has  been,  it  will  suffice  to  recall  to  your 
memory  what  States  are  at  this  moment  united  under  the  sway 
of  our  house.  The  Empire,  Flanders,  Burgundy,  and  Artois ; 
the  kingdoms  of  Spain,  comprising  also  Naples,  the  Milanese 
and  Sardinia ;  by  your  marriage  with  Queen  Mary  I  have 
joined  England  to  this  immense  territory ;  my  flag  flies  over 
the  fortresses  of  Africa,  and  the  vast  continent  of  the  New 
Indies  unresistingly  obeys  my  laws.  To  maintain,  consoli- 
date and  improve  so  huge  a  machine,  my  life  has  been  nothing 
but  one  long  voyage.  I  have  gone  nine  times  to  Germany, 
six  times  to  my  Spanish  dominions,  seven  times  to  France, 
ten  times  to  the  Netherlands,  twice  to  England,  and  twice  to 
Africa ;  eleven  times  my  navies  have  taken  me  across  the 
ocean,  an  ocean  less  stormy  than  the  billows  of  these  unending 
affairs  which  I  have  had  constantly  to  supervise.  Once  more 
I  say,  I  am  weary,  and  you  are  to  take  my  place. 
DON  PHILIP:    God  forbid  that  I  should  hesitate  to  obey! 

334 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

I  am  too  well  assured  of  the  firmness  of  Caesar's  will  to  submit 
the  slightest  objection. 

CHARLES  V. :  You  are  right  to  be  guided  by  obedience, 
holy,  glorious,  all-powerful  obedience.     Henceforth  you  will 
exact  obedience  from  others,  and  it  is  only  proper  and  praise- 
worthy that  you  should  invoke  it  at  this  moment.     You  have 
clearly  perceived  the  two  real  pivots  upon  which  the  world 
must  turn,  and  if  I  can  claim  any  merit  with  the  Eternal  Judge 
when  I  appear  before  His  throne,  it  will  be  that  I  have  facili- 
tated their  movements.     Henceforward  all  must  be  command 
and  submission.     There  is  still  a  vast  amount  of  work  to  do  in 
order  to  ensure  the  domination  of  these  two  principles,  and 
make  absolute  silence  reign  around  ;  but  I  have  already  gained 
much.     When  I  took  over  the  reins  of  power — as  history  must 
tell  you — all  was  disorder ;  and  senseless  customs,  laws,  privi- 
leges and  prerogatives  spread  their  anarchy  over   Christian 
lands ;    the  nobles  commanded,   the  citizens  disobeyed,  the 
peasants,  ay,  the  very  peasants  in  their  villages  talked  and 
claimed  the  right  of  uttering  and  upholding  their  opinions! 
Italy,  less  disciplined  than  all  the  rest,  infatuated  with  her 
knowledge  and  with  the  beauty  of  her  achievements,  shouted, 
made  an  uproar,  and,  attaching  the  most  sonorous  names  to 
the  most  outrageous  follies,  spoke  of  truth,  justice,  and  liberty, 
and  even  threatened  the  constitution  of  Holy  Church.     Ger- 
many, coarser  and  more  stiff-necked  than  her  perverse  and 
brilliant  sister,  went  even  faster  than  she  ;  by  the  abominable 
pamphlets  of  her  scholars,  she  paved  the  way  for  the  monstrous 
doctrine    of    Lutheranism.     At    this    moment,    Don    Philip, 
Christendom  ought  naturally  to  have  looked  to  the  successors 
of  St.  Peter  for  support.     But  there,  unfortunately,  the  excess 
of  evil  was  more  particularly  displayed.     The  Papacy  itself  was 
turning  its  back  upon  the  Faith ;  it  was  coquetting  with  the 
most  dangerous  inventions  of  the  modern  spirit.     Hence  you 
cannot  wonder  if  Francis  I.,  like  Henry  VIII.,  saw  spring  up 
in  their  realms  the  Calvinistic  and  Lutheran  abominations ; 
they  underwent,  like  Leo  X.,  like  Clement  VII.,  the  deleterious 

2  C  335 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

influence ;  they  let  themselves  be  bewitched,  for  a  moment  at 
least,  by  ideas  advantageous  in  semblance,  but  in  reality  no 
less  deadly  to  monarchy  than  to  religion.  When  they  realised 
the  danger,  they  drew  back,  but  too  late  ;  their  States  were 
invaded.  For  my  part,  I  was  not  led  astray  for  a  single  hour, 
and  from  the  first  minute  that  the  disease  showed  itself,  I 
pronounced  upon  it ;  I  resisted  it  with  the  most  energetic  anti- 
dotes. You  know  how  at  first,  attempting  the  most  immediate 
remedies,  1  tried  to  rescue  the  Church  through  herself.  I  set 
Adrian  in  the  chair  of  the  Apostles.  He  died  almost  in  the 
moment  of  his  enthronement,  and  the  Cardinals,  saturated  with 
all  the  orgies  of  the  voluptuous  hell  which  held  Italy  in  thrall, 
would  make  no  further  trial  of  a  necessary  discipline.  In  my 
very  teeth  they  threw  me  Clement  VII.,  who  was  worse  than 
his  cousin.  In  this  grave  crisis,  I  stopped  at  nothing ;  I  forced 
the  Pope  to  be  a  Pope,  and  to  be  up  and  doing ;  I  raised  the 
sword  of  the  Empire  against  the  crook,  and  smote 
Clement  VII.  on  the  head.  I  took  Rome.  I  set  up  a  master 
in  Florence.  I  drove  France  from  the  Milanese  for  good  and 
all ;  finally,  I  crushed  Italy.  Look  into  this  closely,  Don  Philip, 
and  you  will  see  that,  by  this  last  act,  I  have  greatly  simplified 
your  task.  Silence  reigns  now  over  the  whole  Peninsula.  Go 
on  with  my  work.  Remember  that  to  change  its  character  is 
to  jeopardise  at  once  the  security  of  your  crowns  and  the 
salvation  of  your  soul. 

DON  PHILIP :  I  have  listened  to  your  Majesty  with 
scrupulous  attention.  I  can  answer  that,  as  to  the  main  point, 
the  rigid  maintenance  of  obedience,  I  shall  have  little  to 
reproach  myself  with  to  the  very  end  of  my  days.  Certainly 
you  entrust  me  with  a 'task  that  is  simplified  by  the  submission 
of  Italy :  but  what  I  appreciate  above  all  are  the  two  leading 
creations  of  your  reign  ;  the  increased  power  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion and  the  formation  of  the  Jesuit  order.  Through  these 
instruments,  steeled  as  they  are  by  an  unbending  spirit  of 
obedience,  and  destined  to  be  made  great  use  of  by  me,  I 
shall  be  able  to  continue,  in  your  footsteps,  to  save  the  Church 

336 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

without  the  Church,  and  to  crush  pohtical  as  well  as  religious 
heresy.  Henceforth,  Italy  is  nothing;  Spain  is  everything. 
She  has  no  rival  but  France,  and  as  the  combat  levied  by  you 
against  this  power  becomes  daily  more  furious,  it  must  needs 
be  that  either  France  or  Spain  succumbs.  I  shall  not  have  a 
more  easy  career  of  kingship  than  yours  has  been. 
CHARLES  V. :  Work  will  consume  your  days  as  it  has  con- 
sumed mine.  But  you  and  I  are  only  servants  of  the  Cross 
and  the  Sceptre,  and,  in  many  respects,  monks  of  an  order  that 
has  but  fev/  members ;  still,  since  the  aim  is  unusually  high, 
the  discipline  must  be  exceptionally  severe.  Monks  like  you 
and  I,  whose  monastery  is  a  palace,  whose  cell  is  a  room 
gorgeous  with  gold  and  paintings,  whose  cassock  is  now  a 
steel  coat  of  mail,  now  a  velvet  mantle — such  monks  live  and 
will  live  in  the  midst  of  apparent  luxuries  even  as  their  poor 
brethren  of  the  convents  live  on  a  bed  of  straw.  All  that 
surrounds  us  is  but  straw  for  you  and  me,  and  the  asceticism 
of  our  thoughts  reduces  the  pretended  joys  of  the  earth  to  less 
than  nothing.  These  joys,  these  wretched  joys,  these  splen- 
dours, these  shameful  splendours,  these  elegances,  these 
ignominious  elegances,  were  raised  by  Italy  to  a  higher  plane 
than  any  country  or  epoch  had  ever  seen.  I  have  set  my  foot 
upon  the  neck  of  Italy  ;  once  more,  you  will  do  the  same  to  all 
that  resembles  or  wishes  to  resemble  her.  The  world  lives 
not  so  much  by  bread  as  by  discipline.  Never  let  your  subjects 
forget  that  truth. 

DON  PHILIP  (with  a  grim  smile):  Ill-timed  levity  is  not  in 
my  scheme  of  duty,  nor,  I  think,  in  my  temperament.  I  beg 
your  Majesty  to  have  confidence  in  my  firm  resolve  to  postpone 
to  the  time  of  immortal  life,  which  we  must  here  try  to  deserve, 
any  element  of  light  diversion  that  may  exist  in  my  mind. 
CHARLES  v.:  Leave  me.  I  need  repose.  The  Estates 
of  Flanders  will  assemble  to-morrow,  and  to  them  I  have 
decided  to  declare  my  plans.     Go,  Don  Philip. 

Don  I'hilip  salutes  and  retires. 


2   C   2  33 


♦7 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

ROME. 

1559. 
The  studio  of  the  Zucchcri. — Taddco  and  Federigo  Zucchero  ;  Girolamo 
Siciolantc,  Orazio  Sammacchini,  and  other  young  painters.  All  work 
with  the  utmost  energy,  some  scrubbing  immense  canvases,  others 
painting  scenery  mounted  on  frames  or  finishing  pictures  of  varied 
sizes. 

FEDERIGO  :  I  care  nothing  for  nature  or  the  ideal ;   if  you 

dally  with  these  matters,  you  die  of  hunger.     The  chief  thing 

is  to  acquire  an  individual  style ;   and  when  once  you  have 

gained  that  style,  paint  fast  and  furiously!     Then  you  will 

earn  money  and  fame. 

TADDEO  :  Take  away  this  head,  it  is  finished !    By  the  way, 

do  you  know  how  far  the  Barroccio  and  Durante  del  Nero  have 

got  with  the  palace  frontage  ordered  from  them  by  Cardinal 

Earnest  ? 

SAMMACCHINI :  It  is  at  any  rate  well-advanced,  if  not  quite 

finished.     They  are  working  at  it  like  slaves,  and  in  a  week 

they  have  completed  four  nude   figures  twenty-five  feet  in 

height. 

FEDERIGO  :  There  are  artists  for  you!     Fast  and  furious, 

that's  a  potent  maxim !    How  brilliant  has  become  the  part  which 

valiant  painters,  virtuous  sculptors  and  daring  architects  can 

play  in  the  world  !     We  are  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  ;  men  do 

not  trouble,  as  in  former  days,  about  politics  or  religion ;  they 

think  of  nothing  but  art !     I  have  heajrd  my  father  say  that, 

in  his  time,  Italy  was  always  aflame  ;    men  fought  over  the 

merest  trifles ;    everyone  had  a  thousand  interests  to  discuss. 

To-day,  thanks  to  the  Emperor,  thanks  to  the  admirable  order 

which  his  armies  have  established,  we  live  in  peace,  we  earn 

money,  and  we  have  nothing  left  to  desire ! 

TADDEO  :  Faith,  I  had  many  things  to  desire  when  I  was 

employed  by  Giovampiero  of  Calabria  to  pound  his  colours 

for  him,  and  his  wife  thrashed  me  to  a  jelly  while  she  let  me 

die  of  hunger. 

FEDERIGO  :   One  must  have  a  little  inconvenience  at  the 

outset,  but  there  is  nothing  in  that  to  discourage  a  great  artist. 

338 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

There  are  nowadays  a  thousand  ways,  formerly  unknown,  of 
extricating  oneself  from  trouble.  Some  enter  the  household 
of  a  cardinal  or  a  nobleman  as  family  painters,  and  are  well- 
clothed,  and  fed  at  the  pages'  table  ;  others  go  off  to  France, 
Germany  and  Spain,  to  carry  out  for  the  barbarians  works  for 
which  they  are  paid  fabulous  prices  ;  finally,  when  you  have 
made  something  of  a  name  for  yourself,  there  is  no  worthy 
citizen  who  does  not  feel  himself  compelled  to  go  down  on  his 
knees  before  you  so  as  to  secure  a  masterpiece.  Witness  our 
honest  postmaster,  Mattiuolo,  who  commissioned  you,  Taddeo, 
to  paint  the  frontage  of  his  house  in  chiaroscuro,  and  God 
knows  that  you  got  no  small  sum  for  the  three  subjects  you 
portrayed  for  him  from  the  story  of  Mercury. 
SICIOLANTE  :  What  you  say  is  perfectly  true,  Master;  but 
take  note  also  of  certain  annoying  customs  that  were  unknown 
in  days  gone  by. 

FEDERIGO  :  What  customs,  pray? 

SICIOLANTE  :  Formerly,  the  foreigners  bought  our  pictures 
and  took  us  away  to  decorate  their  buildings.  Now,  these 
savages  have  learnt  to  paint,  and  all  over  Rome  you  see 
Frenchmen,  Flemings,  and  Spaniards,  who  take  trade  away 
from  us. 

SAMMACCHINI :  Yes,  they  often  get  a  knife-blade  in  their 
backs,  do  these  intruders  ;  yet  their  number  grows,  and  we  are 
beginning  to  suffer  by  it,  that's  true. 

TADDEO  :  The  fault  rests  with  the  Pope  and  the  nobility. 
They  forget  the  respect  due  to  the  grand  style,  and  ask  for 
novelties.  A  cardinal  will  very  likely  say :  "  Come  to  my 
house,  you  will  see  there  a  unique  painting  ;  admirable  subject! 
execution  full  of  fire !  It's  an  ape  sitting  astride  a  unicorn  and 
biting  into  a  peach.  The  author  is  a  newly-arrived  Fleming!  " 
Thereupon  the  fools  run  to  the  Fleming,  and  for  six  months 
you  see  nothing  but  apes,  unicorns  and  peaches ! 

Enter  the  architect  Francesco  di  San  Gallo. 

SAN  GALLO  :  Good  morning.  Master  Taddeo.  Greetings, 
Federigo. 

339 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

TADDEO  :  Good  morning-,  Master,  You  seem  to  be  in  good 
health,  I  am  glad  to  see. 

FEDERIGO  :  What  is  the  matter?  You  are  frowning.  Are 
you  in  a  bad  temper  ? 

SAN  GALLO  :  One  might  be,  for  less.  That  old  Buonarotti 
makes  my  life  a  misery.  Because  this  madman  once  had 
genius,  people  will  not  see  that  his  wits  are  gone,  and  that  he 
commits  nothing  but  follies. 

FEDERIGO  :  It  is  a  shame  to  see  him,  at  his  age,  still  dis- 
puting the  field  with  young  artists.  He  ought  to  be  buried, 
that  Michael  Angelo ! 

SAN  GALLO  :  He  will  find  the  opportunity  of  ruining  the 
cupola  of  St.  Peter  from  top  to  bottom.  In  vain  do  I  warn 
the  Pope  and  the  Cardinals,  I  find  no  one  bold  enough  to 
affront  this  antique  reputation  in  rags. 

FEDERIGO  :  They're  afraid  of  him !  He  is  so  overbearing 
and  insolent!  And  what  a  narrow,  obtuse  mind!  I  tried  to 
explain  to  him  my  new  method  of  drawing  which  is  to  make 
art  accessible  to  every  intelligence.  He  affected  to  laugh  at  it 
The  truth  is  that  he  is  not  capable  of  understanding  it  in  the 
least. 

SI  CI  OL  ANTE  :  We  ought  to  be  rid  of  these  dotards.  They 
may  have  been  able  to  do  sometliing  in  their  day.  But  of 
real  greatness,  of  real  delicacy,  of  the  finesse  and  polish  of 
things,  they  never  had  the  slightest  conception. 
SAN  GALLO  :  That  is  indisputable.  This  scoundrel  of  a 
Buonarotti  is  a  tyrant,  I  maintain.  He  is  always  repeating  that 
he  has  been  working  at  the  cupola  of  St.  Peter  for  seventeen 
years  past.     As  if  that  were  a  reason ! 

FEDERIGO  :  It  is  a  reason  why  he  should  be  dismissed  at 
the  earliest  opportunity.  Let  him  give  place  to  the  younger 
men,  who  are  in  a  hurry  to  win  for  themselves  a  fortune  and  a 
reputation !  He  ought  to  be  forbidden  further  to  touch  a 
brush,  a  chisel,  or  a  pair  of  compasses. 

Enter  Pirro  Ligorio,  architect. 

PIRRO  LIGORIO  :  You  are  right.  Buonarotti  has  fallen 
340 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

into  his  second  childhood.  We  shall  end  by  convincing  all  the 
world  of  that,  in  spite  of  Vasari  and  Salviati  and  the  few- 
old  bags  of  bones  who  remain  to  us  of  his  following !  I  have  a 
proposal  to  make  to  you.  The  Cardinal  sends  me  to  fetch 
Federigo  ;  he  wishes  to  show  him  some  Flemish  pictures  that 
he  wants  to  buy. 

SICIOLANTE:  You  hear?  What  foolishness!  Plague 
take  your  Cardinal !  Are  there  no  Italian  artists  ? 
PIRRO  LIGORIO  :  What  can  you  expect!  It  is  the  malady 
of  the  age.  The  works  in  question  are  four  panels  by 
Wilhelm  Key,  three  by  Anton  Moor,  of  Utrecht,  and  one  by 
Martin  van  Vos,  of  Antwerp.  I  will  tell  you,  to  console  )'ou, 
that  a  German  nobleman  has  sent  his  steward  here ;  I  have 
seen  this  worthy  man  ;  he  has  an  order  to  procure  forty  can- 
vases of  all  sizes  for  his  master.  He  will  pay  well.  Will  you 
fall  in  with  the  scheme ! 

ALL  THE  ARTISTS  :  Bravo,  Ligorio !  Yes,  we'll  all  fall  in ! 
PIRRO  LIGORIO:  Go  on  then,  Federigo;  I'll  settle  the 
business  for  you  all,  no  later  than  this  evening,  with  the  honest 
Teuton ! 


?4i 


THE   RENAISSANCE 
1560. 

A  chamber  in  the  Colonna  palace.  Dona  Vittoria,  Marcliionesa  of  Pescara, 
dressed  iu  black,  reading  beside  a  little  ebony  table,  on  wliich  a  silver 
lamp  is  set.  Two  maids  of  honour  and  a  duenna  with  elaborately 
dressed  hair  are  doing  needlework  at  the  back  of  the  room.  The  fire 
is  ht  in  the  cliimney,  and  the  logs  sparkle  noisily  in  the  midst  of  the 
ttanie. 

Enter  a  gentleman  in  waiting. 

GENTLEMAN  :  Madam,  Signer  Michael  Angelo  is  at  this 

moment  coming  upstairs. 

MARCHIONESS:   Good:  light  him  the  way! 

She  rises  and  goes  to  meet  Michael  Angelo  ;    the   latter  appears  at 

the  top  of  the  landing,  preceded  by  pages  in  the  Uvcry  of  Avalos 

and  holding  torches. 

Good  evening,  friend.  How  are  you?  It  is  rather  cold  this 
evening. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  kiss  your  Excellency's  hands.  I 
feel  better  than  an  old  man  has  any  right  to  expect. 
MARCHIONESS  :  You  have  not  come  alone,  I  hope? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  No ;  since  you  have  forbidden  me 
to  go  at  my  own  sweet  will,  without  an  attendant,  I  do  so  no 
longer.  Antonio  lighted  me  the  way  with  his  lantern  up  to 
the  door  of  the  palace,  and  there  I  found  your  servants,  who 
treated  me  like  a  noble  lord. 

MARCHIONESS  :  Come  and  sit  here,  by  the  chim.ney-piece. 
In  that  arm-chair.  .  .  .  Don't  move,  Catarina.  ...  I  wish  to 
wait  on  Michael  Angelo.  .  .  .  Good!  Put  your  feet  near  the 
fi.rc. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  (seated):  I  let  you  have  your  way. 
Marchioness.  ...  A  soul  like  yours  is  at  the  summit  of  great- 
ness, and  that  summit  is  virtue. 

IMARCHIONESS  (smiling) :  What  you  say  would  be  true  if 
it  were  a  question  of  being  useful  to  the  poor,  and,  like  our 
Divine  Saviour,  of  washing  the  dusty  feet  of  a  few  beggars. 
But  waiting  on  Michael  Angelo?  .  .  .  that  is  not  much 
humiliation. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  To  hear  you,  who  would  not  believe 
anything  but  the  truth?     Open  your  eyes.  Marchioness  ;  what 

342 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

do  you  see  ?  A  being  weighted  with  years,  assailed  by  all  the 
weaknesses  of  old  age,  putting  forward  his  withered  and 
tremblinor  finders,  not  without  difficulty,  to  the  blaze  of  the  fire. 
.  .  .  What  else  do  you  see  ?  Scanty  hairs,  white  hairs,  on  a  fore- 
head that  assumes  the  tint  of  ivory,  the  cheeks  sunken  and 
falling.  .  .  .  You  behold  a  ruin,  Marchioness,  a  human  ruin, 
the  most  deplorable,  the  most  irreparable  of  all  ruins. 
MARCHIONESS  :  In  speaking  thus,  you  make  a  picture,  and 
you  render  it  as  powerful  as  your  thought.  This  old  man, 
whom  you  try  to  humble  before  my  eyes  in  all  the  abasement 
of  his  weakness,  rises,  on  the  contrary,  exalts  himself  by  the 
very  fertility  of  your  mind.  .  .  .  But  no,  you  are  wrong,  it  is 
not  a  picture  that  I  see,  it  is  the  reality,  and  I  cannot  imagine 
anything  that  can  vie  with  it  in  majesty  and  charm. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes!  you  see  this  twofold  infirmity 
— matter  in  dissolution,  and  the  immortal  soul  which  will  soon 
spurn  it  and  fly  away  to  the  bosom  of  divine  infinity. 
MARCHIONESS  :  I  seem  to  see,  at  my  side,  in  my  presence, 
in  the  horizon  that  lies  within  the  range  of  my  vision,  one  of 
those  stars  which  Dante  makes  rise  in  so  small  a  number  up 
to  the  ultimate  place  in  his  dazzling  paradise,  one  of  those 
stars  with  living  lustre,  which,  as  nearest  to  the  eternal  Trinity, 
borrow  their  radiance  from  its  light.  You  are  not  old, 
Michael  Angelo,  you  live  and  will  always  live  ;  for  that  most 
ethereal,  mo.st  active,  most  powerful  part  of  human  intelli- 
gence, a  sure  and  unassailable  guide  of  the  universe,  will  never 
cease  to  be. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  I  shall  soon  leave  the  world.  The 
inner  sap  ferments  in  me  and  bursts  the  worn-out  bark  of  the 
tree ;  the  germ  splits  the  pod  that  surrounds  it ;  the  seed, 
arrived  at  maturity,  swells  to  leave  the  pulp  that  is  shrivelling. 
I  have  lived  here  below  long  enough,  and  I  ask  my  Master  to 
recall  His  ser\'ant. 

MARCHIONESS:  You  are  weary  of  life? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  On  the  contrary,  I  am  greedy  of  life. 

343 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

I  wish  to  shake  off  from  the  hmbs  of  my  true  being  these  fetters 
of  flesh  that  bind  them.  I  am  athirst  for  complete  freedom  of 
spirit.  What  1  can  divine,  I  am  eager  to  seize  ;  what  I  can 
comprehend,  I  yearn  to  behold.  If,  in  my  sojourn  here  below, 
I  have  g-rasped  something  and  can  express  a  portion  of  the 
truths  whicli  I  feel,  what  shall  I  not  succeed  in  accomplishing 
when  once  the  walls  of  barren  rocks  that  surround  me  have 
fallen  for  ever  into  the  abyss  of  the  past  ?  No,  no !  it  is  not 
death  that  I  feel  coming,  but  life,  life  whose  shadow  alone  we 
can  perceive  down  here,  and  which  I  shall  soon  possess  in  its 
entirety  ! 

MARCHIONESS:  I  tinnk  as  you  do.  We  are  two  very 
different  beings,  my  friend.  You  are  Michael  Angelo ;  I  am 
only  a  woman,  with  enough  understanding  to  measure  the 
distance  that  separates  my  sympathy  from  your  indomitable 
energy.  You  have  done  much  for  the  world,  and  while  you 
thought  you  were  moulding  the  clay  of  your  statues,  you  were 
really  endowing  human  thought  with  new  forms  and  expres- 
sions which  it  had  never  known.  I — what  have  I  done  ?  I 
loved  well  him  who  is  no  more.  ...  I  have  loved  you  well — 
that  is  all. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Then  you  have  produced  as  much 
as  I  have,  quite  as  much.  As  long  as  Don  Fernando  d'Avalos 
was  with  us,  showing  to  Italy,  to  tlie  soldiers,  the  scholars,  the 
populace,  that  proud  and  noble  countenance,  all  shining  with 
the  greatness  of  his  name,  with  the  splendour  of  his  birtli,  with 
the  lustre  of  his  virtues,  with  the  lightnings  of  his  military 
genius — as  long  as  Heaven  left  us  Fernando  d'Avalos,  the 
incomparable  Marquis  of  Pescara,  your  noble  husband,  you 
loved  him  ;  and  in  his  love  you  were  as  gloriously  Isappy  as  it 
is  given  to  any  woman  on  earth  to  feci  herself,  to  know 
herself  Believe  me,  that  was  a  noble  occupation  ;  and  the 
virtues  gradually  developed  in  you  by  the  thrills  of  such  a 
love  undoubtedly  become  the  masterpiece  of  human  worth. 
MARCHIONESS  :  I  have  reflected  upon  this,  and  I  think 
that  you  are  mistaken.     However  lofty  a  devotion  may  be, 

344 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

however  pure  an  affection  and  unswerving  a  love,  so  long  as 
the  heart  is  satisfied,  it  recoils  upon  itself,  finds  joy  in 
itself,  and  breathes  only  in  a  circle  and  an  atmosphere  that 
are  narrow  and  scarcely  accessible  to  any  outside  influence. 
I  have  realised,  since  I  have  been  a  widow,  to  what  an  extent 
happiness  dwarfs  us.  Must  I  confess  it?  It  is,  perhaps,  the 
knowledge  of  this  truth  which  affords  the  greatest  solace  to  my 
grief.  I  have  not  loved  the  less  him  whom  I  loved,  since  I 
have  lost  him  ;  but  sorrow  and  solitude  have  counselled  me  to 
efforts  which  I  have  found  nobler  than  the  facile  virtues  of  which 
it  w^as  so  easy  for  me  to  clasp  the  semblances ;  and  the  very 
difficulties  which  then  crossed  my  path,  forcing  me  to  redouble 
my  strength,  have  perhaps  made  of  me  something  that  a 
cloudless  happiness  would  never  have  made. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Whether  a  man  w^orks  only  upon 
himself,  or  applies  his  activity  to  inert  matter  and  breathes  into 
it  movement  and  life,  the  achievement  is  in  both  cases  the 
same  :  he  sets  up  models  for  his  fellow-men.  We  can  say  with 
truth,  when  we  reflect  on  the  similarity  of  results,  that  the 
most  virtuous  men  are  those  like  PolvP'notus,  Zeuxis, 
Polycletus,  Pliidias,  these  most  accomplished  artists  being 
as  great  missionaries  as  are  the  philosophers  and  the  saints. 
If  then  I,  for  my  part,  have  succeeded  in  producing  some  good 
in  this  world,  and  the  world-spirit  owes  me  some  new  advan- 
tages, do  not  deny  me.  Marchioness,  the  glory  of  comparing 
myself  with  you,  and  permit  me  to  hope  that,  in  the  life  ever- 
lasting, we  shall  rise  on  like  wings  to  a  perfect  equality  of 
rewards. 

MARCHIONESS  :  So  be  it,  Michael  Angelo.  May  I  never 
be  parted  from  a  soul  which,  already,  for  so  many  years  has 
made  me  gaze  with  a  steadier  eye  upon  so  many  great  and 
solemn  truths  ;  it  is  assuredly  the  highest  favour  that  I  can  ask 
of  Heaven.  With  one  particular  quality  in  you  I  have  been 
for  a  long  time  past  powerfully  and  pleasantly  impressed. 
Ought  I  to  tell  you  of  it  ? 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Speak.  I  beg  you. 

:45 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

MARCHIONESS:  We  often  hear  it  said  that  old  age  is 
peevish  and  discontented ;  that,  to  its  eyes,  everything  is 
enveloped  in  a  dark  cloud,  and  the  sweetest  temper  grows 
soured  with  years.  In  you  the  exact  opposite  has  happened. 
I  have  known  you  morose,  impatient,  irritable.  You  were  so 
completely  possessed  by  your  own  thoughts,  that  the  genius  of 
others  remained  to  you  a  sealed  book.  I  have  seen  you  when 
you  understood  none  but  yourself.  ...  As  the  snows  of  age 
have  gathered  round  your  intellect,  all  has  changed ;  it  seems 
as  if,  in  contrast  with  other  men,  you  have  acquired  late  in 
the  day  a  fullness,  a  freshness  of  life,  clearness,  precision, 
and  wide  range  of  vision,  and  a  true  knowledge  of  yourself  and 
of  others. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO :  Such  is  indeed  the  case.  Heaven,  I 
will  confess,  endowed  me  at  birth  with  an  energy  out  of  propor- 
tion to  my  physical  powers.  I  guessed  more  than  I  was  in 
a  position  to  see,  and  I  saw  further  than  I  had  the  power  to 
reach.  All  that  was  being  produced  round  about  me  struck 
me  with  terror ;  I  feared  that  my  insufficient  strength  would 
be  dissipated,  and  I  forced  myself  with  rage  and  gloomy 
obstinacy  to  concentrate  my  gaze  upon  that  holy  aim  which  I 
was  afraid  of  missing.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  both  my  hope  of 
triumph  and  my  dread  of  failure  redouble,  when  I  perceived 
that  every  step,  however  toilsome,  hard  and  fatiguing  it  might 
be,  none  the  less  drew  me  nearer  to  my  goal.  I  spent  my 
whole  life  in  work  and  in  spurring  my  activities ;  I  tried  to 
grasp  nature  in  all  her  convolutions  at  once,  and  I  scaled  her 
heights  by  clutching  with  my  hands,  my  fingers,  my  feet,  my 
knees,  my  whole  body,  at  every  point  where  I  could  gain  a 
hold.  I  have  been  sculptor,  painter,  poet,  architect,  engineer, 
anatomist ;  I  have  carved  colossi  in  stone  and  chiselled 
statuettes  in  ivory ;  I  have  traced  out  the  ramparts  of  Florence 
and  of  Rome,  I  have  set  up  bastions,  built  outworks,  measured 
counterscarps,  and  not  far  from  the  building  whose  wall  I 
covered  with  the  revelation  of  the  East  Judgment,  I  have 
succeeded  in  raising  to  the  clouds  the  immense  cupola  of  the 

346 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

Prince  of  Apostles.  In  a  word,  if  I  have  not  achieved  all 
that  I  wished,  I  have  certainly  done  something.  One  day  I 
saw  myself  in  a  position  as  high  as,  nay  higher  than,  I  could 
ever  have  dreamt  or  desired.  Popes,  kings,  the  Emperor, 
princes,  honoured  me.  Artists  proclaimed  me  the  first  among 
their  ranks,  and  I  had  nothing  left  to  ask  for  either  from 
myself,  who  knew  what  I  could  do,  nor  from  the  world,  which 
gave  me  more  than  I  had  expected.  Then,  while  I  worked,  my 
heart  took  a  rest ;  all  doubt,  all  fear  of  losing  my  v.ay,  vanished. 
I  found  leisure  to  contemplate,  to  appreciate,  to  approve,  to 
love.  Irritation  and  impatience  ceased  to  drive  me  before 
their  fitful  gusts,  and  I  became,  for  good  or  ill,  the  man  that  I 
am  to-day — one  who  needed  age  in  order  to  be  born,  and  has 
become  young  only  in  his  old  days. 

MARCHIONESS  :  What  I  love  in  you,  Michael  Angelo.  is 
that,  while  you  have  ever  before  your  eyes  the  wretched 
course  which  the  genius  of  our  contemporaries  is  taking,  the 
present  decadence  arouses  in  you  neither  anger  nor  disgust. 
MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  It  inspires  me  with  a  profound  and 
tender  pity.  This  world  that  I  gaze  upon  is  a  companion  with 
whom  I  have  accomplished  a  long  journey,  and,  in  contrast 
with  me,  it  has  grown  weary,  it  has  lost  its  vigour,  it  stumbles 
and  is  nigh  to  falling  by  the  wayside,  whereas,  for  my  part, 
the  hope  of  the  life  I  am  about  to  enter  on  exalts  and  intoxi- 
cates me  with  the  most  glorious  anticipations.  In  the  dawn  of 
the  century,  when  wc  started  together,  my  companion  was 
blooming  with  youth,  bursting  with  health,  and  every  prospect 
made  him  cast  prouder  and  prouder  looks  towards  the 
horizon.  While  I  felt  doubts,  my  companion  felt  none  ;  I  must 
give  him  his  due  there ;  young,  impulsive,  spoiled  by  the 
uncouth  and  perverse  ages  from  whose  hands  he  was  escaping, 
his  first  thought  was  to  reject  their  precepts,  and,  though  he  was 
quite  in  love  with  the  art  whose  charms  he  began  to  see,  it 
was  of  virtue  and  religion  that  he  thought  in  the  first  place. 
I  knew  Fra  Girolamo  Savonarola,  madam,  and  never  has  the 
look  of  that  august  countenance  faded  from  my  memory.     I 

34; 


THE    RENAISSANCE 

have  lived  upon  his  teachings.  Whether  it  be  that  he  asked 
too  much  of  us,  or  that  poor  Italy  presumed  too  much  upon 
her  strength  and  that  her  imagination  outstripped  her  honesty 
— Italy  left  his  hands  and  remained  in  those  of  vice.  Yet, 
nevertheless,  she  knew  herself ;  she  was  conscious  of  her 
superiority  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  She  despised  the  other 
countries  and  used  their  resources  for  her  own  ends ;  she  was 
the  object  of  their  admiration,  and  she  knew  it.  She  knew 
herself  to  be  great,  and  dreamed  only  of  becoming  greater. 
Her  artists — you  know  what  they  were !  Now,  all  is  over. 
The  fire  has  gone  out.  Italy  exists  no  more.  Those  whom 
we  despised  are  becoming  our  masters.  The  artists  have 
perished.  I  am  the  last  survivor  of  the  holy  company ;  they 
who  are  called  by  the  same  glorious  name  that  we  bore,  are 
now  nothing  but  traffickers,  and  impudent  traffickers  to  boot. 
We  had  indeed  to  die !  W' e  are  dying  badly,  unhappily. 
What  matter?  There  have  been  beautiful  spirits,  glorious 
spirits  in  this  Italy,  she  that  is  henceforsvard  enslaved  and 
prostrate.     I  do  not  regret  having  lived. 

MARCHIONESS  :  Alas!  I  am  less  detached  than  you  are. 
I  feel  pained  at  the  glorious  things  we  liave  left  or  are  leaving. 
It  seems  as  if,  after  being  flooded  with  light,  our  tottering  steps 
are  going  forward  into  the  dark. 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  We  are  bequeathing  a  great  legacy, 
great  examples.  .  .  .  The  earth  is  richer  than  it  was  before 
our  coming.  .  .  .  What  is  to  disappear  will  not  disappear 
altogether.  ,  .  .  The  fields  can  rest  and  remain  fallow  for  a 
while  ;  the  seed  is  in  the  clods.  The  fog  may  spread  and  the 
grey  and  watery  sky  become  covered  with  mist  and  rain  ;  but 
the  sun  is  above.  .  .  .  Who  knov/s  what  v/ill  come  again  ? 
MARCHIONESS:  You  seem  tired,  my  friend.  Your  head 
is  nodding.  ... 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes,  I  am  weary.  ...  I  will  leave 
you.  ...  I  am  eighty-nine  years  old.  Marchioness,  and  any 
emotion  tires  me  a  little ;  we  have  talked  of  very  serious 
matters  this  evening.     Good-bye! 

348 


MICHAEL    ANGELO 

Mi\RCHIONESS:  Till  to-morrow,  is  it  not? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  Yes,  till  to-morrow.  ...  if  I  am  still 

of  this  world.  ...  If  I  am  not,  till  we  meet  again,  Madam ! 

He  rises ;  the  Marcliioness  supports  him  and  presses  liis  hand. 

MARCHIONESS  :  Lean  on  my  arm.  ...  I  will  take  you  to 

the  foot  of  the  staircase. 

MICHAEL   ANGELO:    I   consent  to  this  honour.  ...  I 

accept  this  kindness.  ...  It  seems  to  me  that  to-day  I  can 

expect  it.     I  have  one  last  word  to  say  to  you.  .  .  . 

MARCHIONESS:  What,  friend? 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  :  You,  whom  I  love  so  well,  I  bless 

you  from  the  depths  of  my  soul.  .  .  .  Good-bye. 

Kisses  the  Marchioness'  hand  and  departs. 


END    OF    THE    FltTH    AND    LAST    PART 


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305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •   Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


OCT  0  2  2001 

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